


chandeliers and fake smiles

by Anonymously_Orphaned



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU where One Direction exists without Harry, And a little bit of, Angst, Basically, Bottom Louis, Enemies to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2020-07-27 17:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 119,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20049538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymously_Orphaned/pseuds/Anonymously_Orphaned
Summary: Louis looks towards the stage. Harry's singing out into the audience, energy low and standing in the middle of the stage, just him and his guitar. The audience are swaying side to side, soaking up every moment and word of Harry’s, somewhat enchanted.That doesn't even effect Louis, not tonight. Not even when his voice is surrounding the entire arena, isolated and echoing right into Louis’ ears..Punk group One Direction have the number one spot in the charts, battling with music prodigy and flower-child Harry Styles. After a PR nightmare, band member Louis Tomlinson is faced with the challenge of a lifetime, stuck in the whirlwind of celebrities and parties and poor attempts at sobriety.





	1. Chapter 1

_August. Los Angeles._

This exact replica of pretentiousness accumulated in the form of a ceremony based on _rewarding_ said pretentiousness is everything Louis Tomlinson tells himself he stands against. He absolutely hates the Grammy’s — has despised it ever since he had seen it for the first time when he was twelve on a shitty little screen for a TV — gagging at the countless, brainwashed sheep that follow these robotic celebrities as though they’re the gods and goddesses of the new-world. And he’s just about certain it’s rigged; the winners invariably being perfectly tuned to the fitting wave of the population and the nominees always being artists that have had global success, sprinkling an accumulation of new-comers into the mix to conceal the idea that  it_ is_ rigged. 

Louis has trashed every single ostentatious show of the like, without a doubt coming up disappointed yet unsurprised when Oscar-winning films turned out to be disasters, and when Grammy award-winning albums fall flat on his ears. 

Which is why, as Louis stands outside on a red carpet, dressed in a glamorous version of what he would normally wear on stage, exempt to the _Yves Saint Laurent La Nuit De L’homm_e cologne that he was sprayed with earlier by either his make up artist or stylist (who on Earth is in charge of scent?), he cannot believe that he is really here and attending the Grammy’s. Not working at, like a waiter or a barman or a cleaner, but attending. As an award nominee _and_ a performer. 

The sprinkled new-comer’s: _One Direction_. 

Fans on the sidelines scream for their chosen favourite, photographers and journalists fighting to keep their voices over all the noise. Celebrities are everywhere he looks, dressed in gowns and tailored suits with jewellery that costs more than his newly bought apartment here in L.A, and he is absolutely certain that none of these people have the slightest clue of who he is. 

"Oi, mate, look," Liam nudges him as Louis _tries_ — attempts. fails — to take it all in, and he’s whispering so  excitedly he might as well have just joined in with the screaming crowd. ”It's _Jay Z_, man!"

Sure enough, as Louis looks across the flurry of celebrities, Jay Z is walking through his own parted entrance like the Red Sea itself, yet he’s hardly seen with the amount of bodyguards and photographers around him. Spotted, the crowd’s screams become impossibly louder for as long as he’s somewhat visible. Liam stands on his tippy-toes, craning his head to try and gain a better view. Louis snorts and shakes his head. 

"Calm your pants, Payno, you'll pop a blood vessel." He tells him, despite his own blood working overtime to catch up with the speed of his heart. 

"I just can't believe we're here. I can't believe we're _here_." Liam grins as he wraps his arm, almost involuntarily, around Louis’ shoulders and pulls him into his chest. 

"I know, I know." Louis laughs, slightly off balance. He pushes off of Liam and fixes up his fringe. ”Absolutely crazy, innit?”

“Mm, I’ve never known you to smell this good before, either, Tommo.” Liam says, leaning in closer to inhale and shut his eyes as he does so, “Should wear that more often.”

“And you should probably throw yourself into the sea of screamers if you’re gonna be that fucking weird again. Don’t smell me.”

“I’m used to you smelling of sweat,” Liam replies honestly, “and alcohol.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve distinguished all of my scents, Liam. I’m very proud of you.” 

"Lads!" Louis hears Niall before he sees him but he comes into view quickly, hand jostling Louis’ shoulder as he bounces, Zayn close behind, expression wild. "Guess what _just_ fuckin' happened."

"Is it _really_ that exciting, Niall?" Louis asks, tugging lightly on Niall’s shirt, noticing how out of breath he is. He must have ran. 

"No, it really is." Zayn tells Louis.

"What happened?" Liam asks, eyes wide.

"We were gettin’ interviewed, me and Zayn—“

"Hang on, you two were having an interview?" Louis looks at them incredulously, blown away by the fact that this is their first time here and one half of _their _band was pulled aside for an interview on a carpet that currently holds a large plethora of this year’s top 100. 

"Yeah!" Niall says, nodding eagerly.

"Don't even know what I said, to be honest." Zayn admits with a shrug.

“Neither. Kinda felt like I was floating, in a way. Like me body was here but I was actually up there somewhere.” Niall waves vaguely to the air above him. Louis chuckles with a frown and puts his hand in Niall’s hair.

“What happened, guys?” Liam repeats, looking between them.

“We’re doin' the interview, right, and someone comes up behind us. You'll never guess who.” Niall answers, simultaneously wagging his brows at the uninflected question and attempting to stop Louis from messing with his hair.

"Jay Z?" Liam guesses, eyes wider than before. Louis turns to him instantly and flicks him on the forehead.

Zayn chuckles and comes over to put his arm around Liam's shoulders and rub at the spot Louis flicked.

“_No_." Niall snickers, face scrunched, “Think I’d properly shit meself if that was the case.”

"I'll take a shot, I'll take a shot." Louis offers, tongue darting out quickly to lick his lips. "Was it... _Beyoncé_?" He waves his hands in the air in front of him with theatricality, brows raised.

Niall lets out a belly laugh while Liam pouts.

"It was _Harry Styles_, bro." Zayn tells the group, wonderment in his words.

Louis focuses on disguising his disinterest whilst Liam does, this time, gasp.

"_Really_?" He looks between Zayn and Niall so fast that Louis' afraid he'll break his neck, then his brows scrunch together in question, ”When you say comes up behind you, though—“

"He full fuckin' interrupted our interview. He was like, '_Hiya, boys_', y'know, in that slow drawl he does," Niall tells them before continuing in a slow speaking voice that quite actually, startlingly, sounds a lot like Harry Styles, "'We've never met but I'm a big fan of your stuff' and then he shook both of our hands. Pretty sure the cameras just got me fuckin' lookin' at him starstruck as shit."

"Nah, you were like, 'yours, too, bro. Huge fan' in this weird, like, manly voice I've never heard you speak in before." Zayn says on the brink of laughter.

"Shit." Niall frowns, but doesn't dwell on it for more than a second. "Well, then he patted us both on our shoulders, told us he'll see us around, and then he walked off!"

Louis just clasps his hands in front of him as he licks his teeth. Liam, on the other hand, looks nothing short of bewildered.

"Harry Styles knows we exist.” He clarifies. Louis rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah," Zayn says, nodding, "How cool is that?"

Louis wants to reiterate that Harry is also performing tonight and if he had come that close to any of them with a camera in their face and didn’t acknowledge them at all it wouldn’t be the best look on Harry’s part — especially with his faux-humbled image the media love to push — but he keeps quiet, preferring to feed off of his band’s nerves and excitement instead, his own veins bubbly with anticipation with the knowledge that they’re mere hours away from performing.

·

They're rushed backstage as soon as one of the stage crew members gets a hold of them, ushering the four boys to their dressing room as quickly as possible. There's a lot of things happening at once and it's almost as loud as it was outside — fans desperate to be noticed and people talking over each other like it’s a game — and inside, too, in the auditorium filled with celebrities and guests who are starting to shuffle in and take their seats.

Niall's sweating has also progressively gotten worse due to the abundance of nerves, which means Louis' main goal at the moment is to constantly distract him.

Right now, in hair and make up, Louis' using the hair-ties that've been splayed out on the counter in front of them as sling-shots, getting Niall in the temple every time.

"Fuck off, Louis!" He shouts.

Louis cackles in response. He leans back in his chair and slings another one, getting him straight in the ear.

"You're a twat!" Niall gets out of his chair and swats at Louis. Louis tries to block his movements but fails, Niall already getting to his hair and messing it up.

His hairdresser walks back into the room at that moment, zoning in on the disaster that's unfolded from the two seconds she left to get more hairspray, and sighs dejectedly.

"It was all him, I swear." Louis points to Niall, who immediately steps back with his hands up in surrender.

"Are you usually this difficult to work with?" She asks them both with a quirked brow, already moving forward to assess the damage.

Louis shrugs, "We wouldn't know," He admits, Niall laughing in response, "We've never had our hair and make up done before."

And they haven't. They've never needed to. Their concerts are usually sweaty enough that Louis will find his eyeliner smudged and dropped below his waterline by the end of it, his tousled hair a matted mess on his forehead. It's usually in small music halls, one's where the cooling isn't that great and everyone's body heat makes it so much worse, jumping around in the enclosed area without ventilation. It’s how Louis likes it, though, putting on shows in venues so small he swears he sees the walls shake. 

They never expected their latest hit, _Where Do Broken Hearts Go?_ to reach the success it has. Since it's dominated number one globally, they've been getting a lot more recognition for their previous albums and singles, their small fanbase rapidly growing at a rate they used to dream about. He remembers hearing that it had reached high in the charts and his first thought was that somebody had stolen their band name and had plagiarised their song. He still hasn’t digested the feeling of the first time hearing it on the radio.

Hasn’t been able to digest a lot from then on, really.

"Hm, well." His hairdresser continues after her initial surprise, "I better do you up real nice, then, shouldn't I?"

Louis ends up with a subtle smoky-eye, similar to the look he goes for every time they go on stage, but this time it holds a certain precision, something he's never been able to master. His hair's styled in his usual fringe, swooped across his forehead with a lot of hairspray so it doesn't fall in front of his eyes, and the hair at the back and top is spiked up with gel.

Louis likes it.

"Lookin' good, babes." Zayn tells him, holding onto his shoulder and getting a good look from head to toe.

For the performance, Louis' dressed out of his red carpet clothes and into high-waisted leather pants, ones that cling onto him tighter than his jeans usually do, but_ his_ stylist, Fernando — because apparently he’s _hired_ one now — had recommended it. He's also got on a cropped black top with sleeves that cut off just after his shoulders, his outfit all connected together with red suspenders with his nails painted to match.

Admittedly when he saw it all on the rack, Louis had taken one look, flipped Fernando the bird, and began to walk off. Looking at it now, though, and how noticing it all comes together... He doesn't think he looks half bad.

Especially with the rest of the band dressed in a variations of red and black and leather themselves. Zayn himself has on a red crop top, one that shows off his mid-section completely, matched with black, low-rise jeans. He's got a silver ear-ring in his left ear dangling and reflecting the same dark make up Louis has.

"So do you, Malik." Louis tells him, and, after closer inspection, "D'you have mascara on?"

"Yeah," Zayn grins proudly, fluttering his extra long eyelashes, "Davina said she couldn't resist putting it on me."

Louis scoffs, pats his hip, "'Course she couldn't."

"I play your album on repeat in the car, mate, not even joking. It's a masterpiece."

Louis frowns at Liam's loud, gushing words. Zayn's suddenly too busy adjusting his top in the mirror to notice, so Louis looks at the reflection just as he hears a familiar voice say behind him:

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate that."

Louis turns away immediately, recognising the hair, the shoulders, the everything. He looks up towards the ceiling, and closes his eyes. All he knows is that he is _definitely_ not about to talk to Harry Styles minutes before what is, inarguably, the most pivotal performance of their career.

Zayn unfortunately catches the familiar voice and deserts Louis to join the others in talking to the singer. Louis watches for a moment in the reflection, watches how his three bandmates look at Harry Styles like he created Earth himself, and he slowly brings a smile. It’s odd to say, but he feels rewarded to see them like this, to see the sparks in their eyes despite how nervous he knows they are. 

And to say _he's_ nervous is an understatement. It's absolutely terrifying knowing that he's about to step out onto the stage with an audience filled with respected artists and people who undoubtedly will judge him, instead of the die-hard fanatics that scream over every song or a crowd of drunken minds who will dance to anything — the type of people that they’re used to.

God, he doesn't even know if anyone will even _like_ it, them, him. Their song is number one, sure, but they're still very much newbies. He's heard it many times when he was younger and when people became somewhat successful — "oh sure, the song's good, but can they even sing it live?" — and it's so completely daunting that Louis finds himself leaning over to place his forearms on the vanity to brace himself, breathing in deeply. 

He's spent so much time distracting Niall and the others when needed that he hasn't even had time to process it at all. He needs some more distraction, needs to flick Liam’s face a bit more, probably.

He flits his eyes back to the mirror, trying to locate Liam. 

Instead he finds Harry Styles staring at him.

It lasts for about two seconds, the staring. The first resulted in his focus definitely situated on Louis’ bum, and the second involving Harry realising that he was being looked at, too, and flicking his gaze up to meet Louis’ eyes in the mirror before blinking away and fiddling with his sleeves. 

The thing is, Louis isn’t a fool. He knows his arse looks great in these pants — after all, they’re leather, black _and_ tight — and he also knows that Harry is a romantic assassin. Louis smirks at himself. _Ass-_assin.

He shakes his head and stands from where he’s bent over. Another thing he knows for certain is that Harry Styles loves to make love and throw his partners away like they’re award nominations: carelessly and without thinking about them ever again. And Harry Styles is _Harry Styles_; Louis can’t be sleeping with the opposition, their competition. They fought for the number one back-to-back, releasing the song around the same time, the media publishing everything they could to depict a fabricated rivalry between the two acts. 

Louis watches him for a moment in the reflection, tilting his head slightly to the side. He’s wearing a sheer shirt, one that’s rolled up at the arms and unbuttoned at the chest, revealing his ivory skin tone. His long pants flare out at the bottom, accentuating his tall stature, and highlighting that yes, actually, he _can_, frustratingly, pull off anything. Maybe sleeping with the enemy wouldn’t be so bad. 

“Lou!” Zayn calls him over. Louis turns to him, the four of them slightly huddled in a circle. Harry’s eyes land on him again as Louis walks up, smile on show.

“Yes, Zayn?” 

“Meet Harry!” Liam prompts, bumping Louis with his hip slightly.

Louis looks up at Harry (looks _up_… really?), and gives him a genuine smile, “Hi, Harry.”

“Hello,” Harry Styles replies, voice a deep contrast to Louis’ own, “Are you apart of One Direction too?”

Louis’ blood runs cold. 

Before, when he was on the red carpet and so nervous that his heart was beating faster than his average speed, his blood was on fire, sweating from the workout. The same red carpet where Harry had recognised Niall and Zayn by merely walking by and telling them that he was a “big fan”. _Are you apart of One Direction?_ Icy. _Freezing_. 

“No, actually,” Louis clips, standing up straighter, “Funnily enough I’m just colour coordinated with the band for absolutely no reason at all.”

Harry looks to the others. Maybe for guidance, Louis’ not sure. He tries not to glare at him. 

Niall breaks the silence with a laugh that sounds forced. “Ah, that’s our Louis.” He says, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“I’m their groupie,” Louis tells Harry, “I follow them everywhere. Even got a tattoo of each of their faces.”

Harry’s brows rise slightly, looking at Louis to try and distinguish if this is a joke or not. When nobody laughs, Harry says, “Oh, wow. That’s—“

“Sorry, but who are you again?” Louis asks, squinting a little as he points lazily at him, “A celebrity, or…”

“I’m, uh,” Harry coughs once into his fist, “I’m Harry Styles, a singer. I’m performing tonight, actually.”

“Really? That’s wonderful, congratulations.” He tells him, watching as Harry begins to smile in gratitude. He wonders if he’s always been this blasé about sarcasm, or if he’s just always been around people who are attached to his every word that he wouldn’t know what it was if it slapped him in the face. 

A stage manager appears and gives the order that everybody should be in their seats as the show is about to start, which means that Louis and the boys need to be in their places extremely soon. 

Harry fucking Styles places his hands together in a praying motion and nods to them, “Well, good luck tonight. Was a pleasure meeting you all.”

In amongst Liam, Zayn and Niall’s enthusiastic pleasantries, Louis slips in a, “You too, Henry Stye.” He thinks he gets away with it, until Liam elbows him in the side.

“_Ow_,” Louis dramatises.

“What was that?” Liam asks.

“Get it? Like eye stye—“

“He’s a cool dude, Lou.” Liam tells him, “Honestly, he is. I haven’t met a more polite celebrity.”

“You’ve hardly met _any_ celebrities, Liam.” Louis rationalises. “And what was I supposed to do? Be okay with the fact that he obviously knew who you all are but conveniently didn’t recognise me? If he was such a big fan of ours then how did he not realise that there are _four_ members of _One Direction_? He’s a twat.”

Liam sighs. “I know, yeah.”

“He’s a douche.” Zayn decides, lacing his fingers with Louis’ and bring his hand up to kiss it. “Confirmed.”

Louis laughs, then brings the boys in for a huddle. “Who cares. We’re at the fucking _Grammy’s_ and we’re about to perform to a whole lot of douches. Let’s kill this shit.”

.

The lights come on and the familiar baseline shoots through the speakers. Niall's voice begins with it, steady and strong, the light only shining down on him and nobody else. Louis keeps his head down, focusing on the bass guitar in his hands. He can't even look out into the audience yet, it's way too intimidating.

They all join in — him, Liam and Zayn — at Niall's line, "how to fix up a heart that I let down," and then Zayn comes in just as the drums do.

He strolls up to the microphone stand in one swift movement, singing effortlessly as Liam bangs the drum behind him. He and Louis are still in the dark as Zayn still remains lit along with Niall, strumming on his electric guitar.

Louis feels the rush, now, the climax almost reaching towards the song. It's his favourite to perform live, mostly because of how much the fans adore it, screaming it back to them with smiles on their faces. A silent crowd is almost off-putting, in a way. But Louis tries to transport himself to rehearsals, an empty garage. 

After they all harmonise again, singing the title twice, it's Liam's turn. He sings into the microphone that's situated above the snare. Louis will never understand how he does it, having to think about three things at once whilst also having great stage presence and a flawless voice every time. Even as the drum beat changes as his verse kicks in, he still manages to find the active camera that's on his face and wink at it.

Louis rolls his eyes fondly as he continues on the bass, the only one left in the darkness.

When the light eventually comes on, Louis starts to sing, "Shadow's come from the pain that you're running from, 'cause it's something you never heard enough.” He looks up at the audience, then, instead of the boys, and only sees a sea of black greeting him. It heals his nerves a little more and meets Zayn’s eyes from across the stage. "Yeah, it took me some time but I figured out—“

The boys join in to sing, ”How to fix up a hear that I let down!”

Zayn carries the first half of the chorus, taking off the mic from the stand and moving closer to the edge of the stage as he sings, his movements cool and calm but they radiate enough energy that it suits the song, something he’s definitely improved and perfected over the years.

Louis carries the next half of the chorus, "Are you sleeping, baby, by yourself?" Zayn walks up to him, then, and Louis leans into him, bass guitar separating their hips, "Or are you giving it to someone else?" They grin at each other and Zayn gives him a wink before walking over to Niall, "Tryna find you but I just don't know..."

After the chorus, Niall holds the bridge. He absolutely nails it, big note and everything. Louis feels ecstatic. The energy is electrifying, he feels it rush through his body and he's actually grinning when he locks eyes with Liam. He feels himself jumping on his feet when they sing the chorus again, Zayn going from Niall to Louis to Liam, flirting and being his usual self on stage.

"Where do broken hearts go? Tell me where you're hiding out." Louis sings, "Where do broken hearts go?"

"C'mon baby, 'cause I need you now." Zayn sings back to him, teasingly stroking Louis' cheek.

Louis bites back a smile, "Tell me 'cause I'm ten feet down." He turns to him, shredding his guitar, then he sings his last solo line, "Come on, baby, come and get me out."

And then Niall and Zayn duet it off before they all sing the last four lines together, jumping on the stage and sing-shout, really. Before they know it, the last strum of Niall's electric guitar and the last hit of Liam's snare is heard and the song, their performance, is finished.

Louis only has time to nod his head at the claps from the audience, wave a little as the lights come on above their heads. It's a bit dizzying; seeing countless amounts of familiar faces applauding them up there on stage.

And then he's getting a chest full of Liam as he pulls them all in for a group hug.

They slap each other's backs and gives whoops of joy before rushing off stage and jumping up into each other's arms, neither of them believing that even happened.

"We just fucking performed at the Grammy's." Niall says. Hands in both Liam and Zayn's hair as he looks bug-eyed at Louis.

"Let's get WASTED!" Louis shouts to the ceiling, dragging on the last word for as long as possible before he's rudely interrupted.

"Sh!" A member of stage crew tells him, finger up to her mouth. "The show's coming back on and they can hear you out there."

"Oh." Louis says, ignoring the boys chuckles. "Sorry." He brings them into a close huddle, looking at them all with a grin before repeating, in a whisper this time, "Let's get fucking wasted!"

.

They're at the bar before they know it, ordering drinks between the commercial breaks, rushing to sit back down in their chairs when the music that announces they're back on air starts to sound.

They're up the back, to the sides. Nobody's really paying them attention and they seem to be able to fade into the background quite easily. They've all changed back into the suits they were wearing when they arrived, but Louis insisted he keep the make up on. He's about six beers deep, and the show's only half-way through.

They were congratulated a few times on their way to the bar, mostly on their performance, some on their latest success. It's still hard to wrap around, Louis' mind a complete and utter blur — it'll take at least a few days before he's properly processed this night at all.

Awards are won, shit jokes were made on stage, awkward silences that are soon to be filled with recorded laughter for the viewers back home is heard and Louis looks at the A-list celebrities, ones that Louis and his band shouldn't even be seen in the same room with, it feels like.

Which is why — while he was whispering closely into Liam's ear, daring him to give the person in front of him a wet-willy — he didn't hear their name being called.

And then Niall's gasping and slapping at Louis' shoulder, at Zayn's thigh. Then a camera's on them and everyone's paying attention to them, now, and _clapping_. Louis lowers the hand that's braced on Liam's face and moves his mouth away from his ear.

Louis hadn't even mentally prepared that they even had a _shot_ at winning, let alone had a bloody speech prepared when they do.

He's rushed up and out of his chair, the boys leading and following behind him. Zayn's in the front, then Niall, Louis and then Liam closely behind.

Louis' sure they all look like a fish out of water, rushing through the crowd with shocked faces, possibly looking extremely drunk. _God_, Louis' got six beers under his belt and moments before this he was contemplating throwing up in the bathrooms.

This is great.

They get onto stage and the lights are even more blinding than when they were performing. The music stops as Zayn collects their award, "Best Rock Album" from Jennifer Lopez — _Jennifer Lopez_! — and steps up to the mic.

It's usual for him to be the spokesperson, since he's the designated lead singer, but Louis hadn't registered just how drunk he was.

“Give it up for J-Lo!” Zayn says, a little too loud, and it earns a round of applause from the audience. He laughs, then waves the award above his head, “This is fucking crazy!” Louis just widens his eyes. His bandmate just swore to celebrity royalty. He takes the microphone away from Zayn, who's now just holding up the award and laughing in disbelief.

"We never, in a million years, expected to be up here collecting an award when we were against so many deserving and respected artists—“

"That's why we went ahead and got drunk!" Niall shouts, loud enough for it to reach the microphone. Louis wants to face-palm, he really does.

The audience laughs again but Louis' sure it's mostly just out of nerves, anticipating what they're about to do. Suddenly, Liam yanks the microphone out of Louis' hand and raises his other hand in the air.

His eyes are glazed over and he looks manic as he shouts, "Thank you!" And proceeds to drop the microphone dramatically, then and there, letting it fall into the stage with a bang.

The music starts up pretty much a beat after it happens and then they're being politely ushered off the stage. Before Louis can even slap the boys silly for being absolute twats, they're all moved into a smaller room, one with a simple backdrop with lights directed on it and a large camera in front.

Louis just hears buzzing when one of the stage crew tells them what to do, unable to focus on her words. They end up in front of the backdrop, posing for the camera. Zayn holds the award out in front of him, stage-shocked and just so, so happy. They all put their hands on it, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

It doesn't take long for them to burst out into laughter, not even a hint of something that sets them off, just the giddiness and the disbelief of it all.

For their first award show ever — the _Grammy_'_s_, no less — they did their first broadcasted performance of their first number one song, and they won Best Rock Album. All in the same night.

Louis' really fucking floating on cloud nine. He's one hundred per cent sure nothing, _nothing_, can ruin that.

He guesses the cameraman gets what he needs, judging by the way they're ushered backstage again, around through the area they were before the show. Niall's hanging off his shoulder, singing some song with a heavy Irish accent, more than usual, and it almost comes out as a chant.

They don't have their award anymore, which sucks, and Zayn had pouted over it for at least two minutes before the girl had to reassure him for the tenth time that they will get an award, just not tonight.

They've lost Liam on the way back to their seats. Louis doesn't have it in him to ask, though, content on just swaying with Niall as another presenter comes onto the stage and someone else wins. He looks on with a lazy smile that he can't seem to shake, and he pinpoints then and there, that this is the best night of his life.

"Me too, babes." Zayn tells him, smacking a kiss to Louis' cheek.

Louis grins and then there's a break in the show. People start to scurry around, stretching their legs. They spot Liam racing up the stairs to get to their seats, cheeks flushed slightly and so giddy.

"I couldn't move 'cause the show had started back up!" He says, the entirety of it absolutely ludicrous to him. "But I got talking to Adele!"

"Shut up." Louis looks at him, dumb-founded. "You didn't."

"Yeah!" He says, smile splitting him in two, "She says she thinks we're fucking hilarious. Also that we're brilliant performers!"

"You're bullshitting!" Niall tells.

"I'm not!" Liam yells back.

Louis shakes his head, laughing. "I'm gonna get us another round."

They all slap his back as he squeezes passed, towards the bar. There's a bit of a line, everyone anxious to get ahead in drinking before the afterparty kicks off. It's a good indication that the night is winding down soon.

He's two people away from ordering drinks when someone starts presenting something again. It's not an award, though.

"Please give it up for Harry Styles!"

The crowd claps and cheers, and sure enough there's Harry, centre stage with the same suit he's been in all night, singing into the microphone.

Louis rolls his eyes, turns his attention back to the bar.

“Sweet creature, had another talk about where it’s going wrong.”

Louis steps up to the bar, "Four beers! Please."

“But we’re still young, we don’t know where we’re going but we know where we belong.”

Louis looks towards the stage. Harry's singing out into the audience, energy low and standing in the middle of the stage, just him and his guitar. The audience are swaying side to side, soaking up every moment and word of Harry’s, somewhat enchanted.

That doesn't even effect Louis, not tonight. Not even when his voice is surrounding the entire arena, isolated and echoing right into Louis’ ears. 

"There you are." The bartender says, pulling Louis from the performance.

Louis takes the beers and the plastic casing that holds them all and turns back around, ready to join the boys and sit down.

“We’re running through the garden, oh, where nothing bothered us,” Harry croons, making Louis glance back up. “But we’re still young, I always think about you and how we don’t speak enough.”

He makes it to the boys and undoubtedly finds them all mesmerised by the flower-child on stage, singing along. Even Zayn. The traitor. ”Here we go, lads, drink up." Louis says.

"Harry looked over at us!" Niall tells him, grabbing a beer from Louis without even glancing at him.

“I think we’re all but a sea of black to him right now, Neil.” 

Louis looks over, watching how Harry’s dimple pops when he smiles innocently at the camera, strumming his guitar as fog fills up the stage and collects near his feet.

“Wherever I go, you bring me home.”

Then Harry's walking away, strumming his guitar. He has some kind of wreath embedded into his hair, still in the same outfit as before. Louis doesn’t understand the hype, honestly.

He brings the beer to his lips and drinks half of it in one go, trying to slink into the darkness behind his bandmates as they sing out the song loudly.

He even ends up sitting down, looking anywhere but the stage. He's completely covered this way, the people in front of him blocking his view, dancing. He can still make out Harry, though, completely in his element, smiling as he begins to prance around the stage.

He sings the last few parts of the song and he takes a bow when he finishes, hands pressed together in a praying motion as he nods his head towards the audience like he did to them backstage, smiling widely. Then he waves once before turning on his heel and leaving the stage.

"Giddy up, Tommo!" Niall tells him loudly, shocking him. If Louis hadn’t finished his beer, he’s sure it would have spilt on his shirt. ”We’re partyin' on!"

.

The car ride had consisted of nothing but loud music blasting from the speakers, Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn all screaming out the lyrics — definitely making their poor driver's ears bleed — and drinking the car's complementary champagne from the bottle.

It had lasted for about three minutes, it seemed like, and now they're parked out the front of the afterparty, ready to go in.

They so much as roll out of the car, laughing until their stomachs hurt and stumbling over each other as they walk up the street, up the ridiculously long drive-way and towards the house with the loud music and flurry of other celebrities disappearing inside.

Louis doesn't know who's house it is, doesn't know who's there already, but he guesses most of the guest-list _are_ since he and his band were one of the last people to leave the venue, way too caught up in talking to every single person they got to meet. Their limbs had also struggled to work in conjunction with their minds, and it may have taken them a little longer to eventually get them down the stairs and out the door.

It's safe to say that if the alcohol was only just hitting them before, it's most definitely hit them now.

They reach the door of the party, two bodyguards out the front and one with a checklist. They rattle off their names, and when they're met with a blank expression, Louis takes the clipboard and before the bodyguard can protest, Louis ticks off their four names.

"We won a Grammy, mate!" Louis tells him, grinning.

He's met with a dead-panned face as the boys behind him shuffle Louis inside, trying to contain their laughter.

The house is huge. The ceiling is extremely high, the four of them having to look completely upwards to scope it all. The staircase is huge, too, and so are the windows. Louis’ convinced himself, at this point, that this cannot be anyone’s _actual_ home — this is a venue made specifically for parties such as this. There’s bartenders and chefs and waiters and it's nothing like Louis' ever seen before.

A waiter comes up to them, then, with a plate of tiny sandwiches. He looks at Liam when he says, "Hors d'oeuvres, sir?"

Liam's expression is absolutely priceless. He looks at the man, bewildered, "Whore de what?"

Zayn lets out a loud laugh and takes Liam away, pointing at where the tower of chocolate coated strawberries are. Louis and Niall look at each other, then, and it's only for a brief second before they're both saying in unison:

"Drink?"

He knows he should've stopped a long time ago. Probably shouldn't have had champagne, either. But the truth is he never ever wants this night to end and fuck being responsible when he's experiencing something so great.

"Four vodka shots, mate." Niall asks the bartender.

Louis looks at him, “Don't think the others are gonna be here anytime soon."

"Yeah?" Niall says with a shrug.

Louis finds himself laughing, and then they're downing shot number one and Louis feels it all the way down to his stomach. "Shit, that burns."

"Don't be such a little boy." Niall teases, already holding up shot number two.

"You're gonna kill me one day, Niall, and — no, before you say it, it won't be because of your deathly good looks."

"Well, can't be from alcohol, can it?" Niall asks, genuinely confused.

Louis dares to ask, "Why not?"

"Well, this shit isn't gonna kill anyone!" Niall laughs as though it's the blatant truth.

Louis just shuts his eyes, "Mate," He says, putting a hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eye, “Please, don’t tell me..." Louis kills off his own sentence, knowing the blankness over Niall's face isn't leaving anytime soon and he really doesn't know about a tiny thing called alcohol poisoning. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh, god."

"I see through your tactic, Tommo. Stallin' are ya?" Niall grins, "I can take it if ya want?"

"Yeah, go ahead, actually. I might just stick to beer." Louis tells him, his eyesight already fuzzy.

Niall smashes down the two shots like they're fucking water and Louis chuckles to himself and looks out over the crowd. With a brief scan he manages to spot Chance The Rapper talking to Lorde, Selena Gomez dancing with Taylor Swift, a sea of people Louis' either grown up with or listened to lately getting progressively more drunk and if Louis wasn't totally inebriated himself he'd possibly, _definitely_, be having an out of body experience right now.

He gets a beer in his hand, one in a glass that looks more expensive than any piece of clothing in his wardrobe and Niall strikes up a conversation with Bruno Mars. That sentence alone is unbelievable.

"Should probably take it easy on those."

Louis hears the voice and goosebumps dance at the back of his neck. _Christ, why is he here_?

Louis turns slowly and finds Harry with his entire body leaning against the bar, arm up on it with his own colourful drink of choice. He's changed, dressed in something more casual, a button-up — with, like, two buttons _actually_ done up. Is he serious? — and black jeans with a fairly modest belt. He's got not one, not two but three cross necklaces. Louis doubts he's even bloody religious.

"Keeping a tally, are you?" Louis replies, eyebrow quirked.

Harry's smile grows a tiny bit at the response before he presses his lips together and tries to keep a straight face, therefore producing a dimple. "Anyone who saw you collecting your award would have an idea of how drunk you are." He replies, voice so slow and low that Louis' left to wonder if Harry's beyond drunk himself or if that really is how painstakingly tiresome his normal voice is. Harry then touches Louis' elbow lightly, only just for a second, and lets his smile show through when he says, "Congratulations on that, by the way."

Louis just looks at him. He awaits some kind of apology, but then he realises that Harry must feel like a bit of a dick anyway, now that he’d seen Louis performing and, as he said, collecting their award. Louis kind of feels pity on him.

He brings the beer up to his lips and drinks it fast, his years of downing drinks in record speed coming in handy, and doesn't break eye contact with Harry as he does so. Harry's looking on with a questioning glare and also something like shock as he watches the glass empty out.

Louis then places the glass back on the bar and wipes off the lingering foam on the corner of his lips with the side of his thumb before putting it in his mouth, sucking it off in one quick swipe.

"Thanks." He says, then proceeds to walk away.

He hasn't entirely made up his mind about Harry, yet.

.

The dance floor is the weirdest concept of his life. It's like he's in a club, there's a DJ and crazy lights and a hard floor but it's not sleazy or dirty and there's not couples grinding on each other with spilt drinks everywhere. Instead there's groups of people dancing modestly, some daring to go out a little and be a bit crazy, but it doesn’t matter because Louis' literally dancing with celebrities in the middle of it all with his finger pointed up in the air and his feet making him bop up and down.

He has no clue what time it is or how long he's been here but after he saw Harry and walked away he hasn't been able to locate any of his bandmates at all. It's fine, really, he went to the bathrooms and ended up doing a jelly shot with Calvin Harris, then shared a smoke with Kendrick Lamar and Miguel outside before heading to the dance floor.

If he felt confident enough, he'd get out his phone and try and text the boys, ask them to join him here. But he's not confident enough to even make sure he doesn't drop his phone accidentally and smash it into pieces.

So he continues dancing, both hands up now as he closes his eyes and sways with the uptempo song, moving his hips around as he does so.

He could stay here forever, he decides. He could. If he had it his way, everyone would stay here and the night would never end and Louis would be this carefree and happy for the rest of his life.

He feels a tap on his waist, just above his hipbone and he drops his arms. He opens his eyes and is met with big, brown ones and a kind smile. Louis stops his movements and smiles back.

"Liiiiiiam." Louis sings, instantly grabbing his hand. "Missed you."

"Missed you too, Lou." Liam responds, and that's when Louis notices the lipstick on his mouth, the way his hair's all messed up.

"Payno, you dirty dog!" Louis exclaims, Liam gushing under the attention. "Well done, well done!"

"Shut up," Liam says, poking his tongue out. "You goin' alright?"

"I'm going _great_." Louis grins, placing Liam's hands on his hips, lacing his own around Liam's neck. They're both as drunk as each other, swaying lazily and unsteadily, but Louis notices the post-fuck haze in his eye and Louis feels a little lonely. "Wish I hooked up tonight."

Liam's eyebrows rise, "You haven't?"

Louis rolls his eyes, "Give me a break, Ian, this is a bit of a different crowd, don't you think?"

"I did it." Liam says, shit-eating grin on his face.

"Yes, well, that's because girls are practically lining up to fall face first onto your dick," Louis says, making Liam squeak in surprise, "I don't exactly have men drooling over me here, now, do I?"

To that, Liam bites his lip and scans the room, looking around for candidates. Louis' already given up, though, and he lets his head rest on Liam's shoulder. He's sure if there was a bed somewhere he'd happily fall into it, possibly would have the happiest dreams of his life.

"There might be someone." Liam says, hesitancy in his words.

Louis picks his head up, eyebrows squeezing together, "Who?"

"Don't look, but," Liam's trying his hardest not to laugh, or burp or something that's making his mouth do this weird, twitchy thing, "Harry. Styles."

There's absolutely no hesitancy when Louis scoffs loudly, followed by a laugh. "Please, that man's had more girlfriends than I've had hook-up's. Are you _that_ drunk, Liam?"

"No, really. He was just looking at us. At you. Like, staring." Liam says, then frowns. "Sort of freaked me out a little."

"Aww, babes." Louis pouts, bringing his hand up to stroke Liam's cheek affectionately, "You're so adorable when you lie."

This time it's Liam's turn to scoff. "Whatever, Lou. D’you want another drink?”

Louis thinks about it but then shakes his head, “I’m good for now, babes.” He lets the hand that was on Liam's cheek slide down to his chest, resting there, “But if you need me, I'll be outside, yeah? Looking for _real _contenders."

Liam's face splits into a smile. "Okay. But make sure you check your phone when it rings, I think Niall wants to head off soon."

Louis gives him a nod and a kiss on the cheek as Liam taps his arse, and then Louis makes his way outside. Thankfully, there's seats upon seats he can choose from and it's a god send, really, because his feet hurt.

He spots Bebe in the corner of the backyard, a few people gathered around in a circle. Bebe's someone he knows, someone he's been close to for a while. She radiates energy and light, and it's exactly what Louis needs to beat off this sudden drowsiness he's feeling.

"Well if it isn't Louis fucking Tomlinson!" She yells as he walks over, he waves in return. She slaps her thighs, "Come, sit."

Louis obeys, sitting on her lap side-on. They play catch up for a bit and a round of congratulations for each of their latest successes. She also introduces him to the rest of the circle, all people he doesn't recognise.

"Can someone tell me, right," Louis begins, referencing to the whole circle, "Why there's hardly any single, gay artists?"

They all laugh in return.

"No, seriously," He continues, "I feel like I'm all on me own!"

"I'll have ya, babe." Bebe says, squeezing Louis' thighs.

Louis looks at her, winks, "I know, darling."

"Wanna forget about boys for a bit?" She suggests, then gestures something to one of her friends, "Bit of a pick-me-up?"

Louis feels himself brighten at the mention, "What, pills?"

Her eyes widen, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, honey. No." She says, then laughs. "I know you're all 'punk rock' and whatever but, no. We're at a Grammy's afterparty, babe. We have the expensive, amazing shit."

One of her friends rolls up her twenty dollar bill neatly, and then a credit card is handed to him, a small line of cocaine on top.

"This is exactly what I need." Louis says, taking both items. He sniffs it up with practiced ease, all of it going up smoothly and efficiently. "I'm so glad I found you guys."

"Can have more, if you'd like. This stuff is really good, so you won't be crazy on it." She tells him.

"You're on it?" Louis asks, only now seeing how expanded her pupils are.

"Yeah, I'm on it." She laughs. "I've been wanting to dance for ages now but this lot has taken to weed instead."

"Why didn't you find me? I was in there all on my lonesome before." Louis says to which she pouts. "Well, cut me another one, then, and we'll dance our butts off."

.

The dance floor is not nearly as packed as it was. Louis' hot though, and even with his shirt completely unbuttoned, Louis feels as though he could get naked and still be sweating.

He and Bebe have been dancing non-stop, other people joining and then leaving after a while. It's well into the morning, now, and Louis can tell the older crowd have all left.

Louis' more awake now then ever, though, but as he screams along to the words, grin splitting his face in two, he spots Zayn in the corner of the room sitting down, nursing a beer. Louis stops his movements completely. That's not like Zayn at all.

"What is it, Louis?" Bebe asks, concern etched on her own face.

"I'm just gonna talk to him for a bit." Louis tells her, cocking his head towards his bandmate. "Join you later?"

"Yeah, 'course."

Louis makes his way over to Zayn and they lock eyes before Louis sits down. He looks distraught, gnawing at his lip.

"Mate, what's up?" Louis asks softly, hand on his back, softly rubbing. "What's happened to my partner in crime? My fellow fun-man?"

Zayn swallows thickly, shakes his head, "Something, like, happened." He frowns, eyes darting all over the floor, "It's... It was weird when it happened. Not — not weird as in the situation was weird. Well, no, the situation _was_ weird. But what weirded me out even more was, like, how I felt afterwards? I think? God, I don't know, Lou."

Louis' mind catches up to everything Zayn just said, but he's left more confused than when he sat down. "Zayn, what happened?"

At this, he looks at Louis. He seems to be contemplating something, and then he shakes his head. "Could we maybe, like, not talk about it, actually? I just — I wanna, like, have fun instead."

Louis nods. Fun. He can do that. "Sure." He grabs Zayn's hand. "Let's go dance."

He looks over to where Bebe would be, but as his eyes go over there she's not alone. There, spinning her around, is none other than Harry Styles.

"Why is he fucking everywhere?" Louis groans inwardly.

"Who, Harry?"

He's laughing, an actual deep laugh that makes him bend over slightly, nose scrunched up. His hair's dishevelled and his lips look red, even from here.

"Yeah."

"Have you bumped into each other a lot tonight?"

"Once."

"_Once_?" Zayn repeats, his tone making Louis look at him again. "Shit, I've spoken to him more times than I've spoken to anyone here. How've you managed to avoid him this whole night?"

Louis lets his gaze settle on his hands, then he locks eyes with Zayn again, "I think I'm dick repellent."

Zayn laughs loudly, his eyes disappearing into half-moons. He slaps at Louis' thigh twice. "C'mon, let's go."

Louis whines in protest as Zayn gets from his seat, tugging at Louis' hand.

"C'mon." Zayn emphasises, "Have fun with me."

Louis sighs. ”Fine, fine.” He stands up and takes Zayn's hand with his own and lets himself be dragged onto the middle of the dance floor.

There's a dwindling group of people on the far side of the room, more so talking in a circle than dancing. Then there's Harry and Bebe on the other side, shouting lyrics and throwing their hands up in the air as they touch hips and bounce off each other. Louis can see Zayn's deliberation, judging whether to join them or not but his mind's made up as soon as he looks at Louis' face.

They remain in the middle, Zayn takes Louis' right hand whilst still holding his left and puts them both in the sky, waving them around.

"Woo, Lou-eh! Look at you dance!" Zayn says, chuckle encasing his words.

Louis tries his hardest not to smile — because _god_, how embarrassing — but fails, and over-compensates with a dramatic roll of the eyes. Then Zayn's giving Louis a twirl, one that Louis gives into far too easily, and they both end up laughing.

"Bal-_Lou_-rina." Zayn says, thinking he's the funniest person alive.

Louis looks at him strangely and gives a very deserving slap to the cheek. It's not hard enough to hurt, but it's hard enough to make Zayn gasp, eyes comically wide with a hint of a knowing smile. 

Louis quickly shields himself but he's not quick enough. Zayn slaps at Louis' shoulder, karate sounds going with it, and lightly kicks at Louis' shin. Louis slaps away Zayn's hand and slaps something else of Zayn that Louis' not quite sure of because his eyes are closed now and Zayn's coming at him full force.

Grabbing at Zayn's shirt he manages a kick to the side of his thigh as he lets out a childish scream of terror. He hears Zayn chuckle in his ear as a hand comes up to pinch Louis' cheek.

Louis' about to flick Zayn's nose when Bebe steps between them, "Boys, what the fuck? Are you twelve?"

"I am, actually, and you're all under arrest for supplying a minor. How very dare you."

"Yeah, Bebe." Zayn agrees, the hand pinching Louis' cheek now settled in cupping his chin instead.

Bebe laughs in response and shakes her head. A piece of clothing is suddenly pressed into Louis' bare chest and Louis looks at it. It's his discarded suit jacket, and Louis takes it from her with a thanks. 

Then she taps Zayn's arm, "C'mon, love, I want to introduce you to someone."

"Okay." Zayn says easily. He parts, but not before giving a quick kiss to the side of Louis' head and saying, "Meet up later, yeah?"

Louis nods, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"More like would do." Bebe says, turning back from where they're walking off with a wink.

Louis watches them disappear into the kitchen. He sighs softly, not knowing where any of the other boys are and not knowing how many people are actually left to mingle with. He decides to turn around.

"Oh." Louis says under his breath.

He's met face-to-face with Harry. A very sweaty, only-two-buttons-done-up, smiley Harry.

"Hello again." He greets, calmly.

Louis tilts his head slightly to the side, tries to gage him. "Hello."

His eyes are big and green and they hold Louis' gaze for a long time before deciding this is probably the moment he should talk. "You look like you’re having fun, Louis Tomlinson.”

He articulates every vowel, taking his time with it, like he’s accentuating the fact that he’s learnt Louis’ full name. He's standing with a bit of a slant, Louis notices, toes pointed inwards and his hands folded behind his back. Louis comes to one conclusion and one conclusion only. 

“And you're quite peculiar."

At that, Harry laughs. His face splits into a grin and Louis' showcased a row of professionally whitened teeth. His head drops towards the floor, making his hair fall onto his forehead. Then he pushes it back with his fingers as he looks up again, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek.

"Thanks? I guess?" He says it with the smirk that shows off his dimple, voice somehow even deeper.

It's the first time Louis' had a proper look at Harry since they've met. And it might be the new-found adrenaline running through him, making his brain work faster, but he observes Harry closely. His lips are red and full, and Louis had noticed that when he was sitting with Zayn before and upon closer inspection, he realises it's not artificial, rather from drinking. Or kissing. Louis looks at his shirt, a pathetic piece of material that may as well not even be on him, especially since one of the buttons seems to be torn off.

It's when Louis returns his gaze back to Harry's eyes that Louis realises Harry's been fidgeting slightly.

"You're quite intimidating." Harry says.

Louis' brows fly upwards, "Am I?"

Harry just nods. Louis scrunches his nose up for just a second before he readjusts his position with his feet, arms coming up to cross over his chest as he looks away.

"Not sure about that claim." He states.

"Not sure about yours, either." Harry states right back.

"You _are_ peculiar, Styles." Louis replies without a thought, using one hand to gesture lazily to Harry's entire being. "I mean, look at you."

"Hey," Harry pouts, frowning, "I happen to like the way I look."

This time, Louis' face splits into a grin. He steps forward once and stretches up a bit to pat Harry on the shoulder twice.

"'Course you do, mate."

He's about to walk off on Harry for the second time and makes it as far as two steps, before:

"Wait — Louis,” Harry's saying, hand reaching out after him but it drops once Louis turns around with an expectant expression, "Your, uh... Niall's upstairs. In one of the bathrooms. He's not doing too well."

Louis frowns. That's not like Niall at all, to be away from the party or even throwing up, for that matter. He's the one who's quite proud of his strong stomach, able to mix different drinks without a second thought. Has proved it many times, actually. 

Harry doesn't expand on his words but Louis makes his own judgement call. He's throwing up and it must be serious.

"Thanks." He tells Harry, then makes his way upstairs.

Going through the house, he realises there's not many people there at all. He wonders what time these things usually wrap up, wonders if the owner of this house goes as far as kicking people out.

Louis takes two steps at a time and pauses once he reaches the top. All the doors are shut but Louis' memory's foggy as to which room is what. He takes a blind guess and walks to the third door on his right. He gives the door a knock twice, "Niall? Y'in there?"

"Louis, yeah, we're here." Replies Liam, two doors down.

Louis instantly pulls the door open. He finds Niall looking like Satan's arse pouring himself over the bathtub and Liam's sitting next to him, rubbing his back. The entire room smells like sick.

"Jesus, lad." Louis backs away, wafting the air away from his nose with his hand, "What happened to you?"

Niall looks like he wants to be sick again, "Don' wanna talk abou' it."

Louis frowns in confusion. He hears Zayn's voice echo in his mind — "_Could we maybe, like, not talk about it, actually_" — and he leans against the doorway.

"Did you and Zayn have a fight or somethin'?"

Liam's eyes widen, but only just, "Why? Did he say something?"

"Oh, god." Niall mutters, pulling himself over the bath a bit more, face going white.

Louis, safe to say, feels slightly terrified. "I mean, yeah? Well, sorta? I don't know what he was trying to say, really." He looks at Niall's limp body and he steps further into the bathroom, "Jesus, Niall, do you need an ambulance?"

"No, he's... He's alright." Liam says. He looks like he's sobered right up. "D'think you'd be ready to leave, now?"

"Definitely." Louis says straight away, "There's hardly anyone here, anyway. Want me to scout Zayn and you call a cab?"

"Yeah," Liam nods, already digging into his pocket for his phone, "Meet us out the front?"

And so in the next ten minutes, Louis finds himself outside the front of the house — slightly still drunk, high on cocaine and worried yet confused at the same time — waiting in silence but Louis doesn't miss the way Zayn's anxiously sucking on a cigarette.

When he had told him about Niall, he'd clammed up almost straight away and his eyes darted towards the house from where he was laughing with Bebe and her friend outside seconds before. Louis had asked him if he knew what was wrong but Zayn just gnawed at his bottom lip and shook his head.

"So Liam's with him?" Zayn asks, voice a mumbled slur.

Louis looks at him for a moment before replying, having already told Zayn the answer, "Yeah."

Zayn just inhales more of his cigarette and then throws it onto the grass next to the footpath, stepping on it.

They hear a commotion all the way up the driveway and their heads both snap in unison. There's three figures, walking normally.

For a second, Louis thinks it's not even them. Judging by the state he left Niall in, he'd think he'd be stumbling out with Liam holding him upright.

But then they come into closer view, walking underneath the lights donning the drive and Louis can see the way Niall walks unaffected but still a bit more pale than usual and the way Liam's glancing at him every other second with his brows unable to unclench from their frown.

And then there's Harry. Of course there's Harry.

He's walking beside them, two water bottles held in only one of his hands whilst the other one is on Niall's back. He's got a shirt on now, but it's different to the one he had before. It's a white tee that hangs a little low on his chest, the sleeves rolled up and pushed above his shoulders.

When Harry looks over to them he locks eyes with Louis. Louis breaks the contact instantly, focusing on Niall instead.

"Cab should be here soon." Liam tells them as they come closer. He looks at Zayn, then gives a reassuring nod.

What the fuck is going on?

"Sorry, lads, for breaking up the party early." Niall says, looking at nobody in particular. He looks like he's about to throw up again purely from guilt.

Louis takes pity on him. "Nonsense, Niall." He steps over, puts an arm around him. "Probably a good thing, yeah?"

"The house is almost empty, anyway," Harry says, hand still on Niall's back, fingers inches away from Louis' arm, "Party would’ve ended soon."

Louis' about to look at Harry and question him as to why he's still here, since he's right, the party was definitely dwindling and when Louis had searched for Zayn he saw a total of twelve people in the mansion.

But before he can open his mouth, a car pulls up to the curb.

Niall detaches himself from both Louis and Harry's touches and goes straight to the cab, but not before Zayn puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder and whispers something inaudible with eyes filled with worry. The conversation doesn't last long, what with Niall just nodding in response and then promptly entering the front seat.

Zayn looks at the ground, almost rejected. The question marks in Louis' head doubles.

Wrapped up in that interaction, he hadn't noticed Liam hugging Harry goodbye until they departed. Zayn says goodbye next, giving Harry a handshake/hug hybrid that makes Zayn look a lot manlier than what he is.

Louis sort of lingers back, even as Liam's already in the cab and Zayn begins to make his way over, but he doesn't know why. Harry's smiles sweetly at him, the light illuminating the stray hairs around his face. 

Then Louis steps away with a "Goodnight, Styles." and walks towards the cab without sparing another look.

"Thanks for coming." Harry calls just before Louis shuts the door.

The atmosphere is weird in the cab. Louis feels himself coming down, possibly more rapidly than expected under different circumstances but with the mood of everyone around him, he feels like he's getting tired with every second that drags on.

"So." Louis says, slapping his thighs, making Liam flinch slightly. "How's everyone feeling?"

"I'm good." Liam replies.

"You're good, Payno?" Louis says, bending slightly to see him passed Zayn, "Perfect." He judges Zayn's expression, eyes locked onto the back of Niall's head, probably not even acknowledging any of Louis' words. "Zayner?"

Zayn blinks, like he's coming to, then locks eyes with Louis. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

"Fantastic!" Louis exclaims, reading bullshit. "Now, Niall, how are you holding up?"

"'M ready for bed." Niall mumbles back, his elbow resting against the door, fingers fiddling with the hair next to his ear.

"Almost there, lad." Louis replies, watching as the houses pass outside. "We won a motherfucking Grammy, boys!"

"Lou," Zayn says, softly, and it's not until Louis really inspects him, here in the quietness and closeness of the cab that Louis realises his fellow bandmate and best friend is, in fact, stoned as fuck.

"Yeah, mate?"

"You're good?" He asks, almost with concern. Louis realises what he's saying, asking how he's feeling since everyone else replied except for himself.

"Oh. Yeah, bro." Louis says with a smile, patting his knee. "I'm fucking ecstatic."

Zayn replies with a slow smile and Louis shakes his head with a quiet chuckle before returning his gaze outside.

It's not until they're a few streets away from Niall's when Harry's words ring through his ears —_Thanks for coming_ — and, shit.

"Who's house were we just at?" Louis asks.

Zayn giggles like he can't help it and Niall turns back to him with an expression that almost says 'are you serious?'

"Harry's." Liam replies, verifying Louis' fear. "Are you telling me you didn't know the whole night?"

So. Louis went to Harry Styles' house for the Grammy afterparty. It's insane, and his exhausted brain and lazy body hasn't really caught up with it all just yet.

No wonder he had been everywhere Louis was, it seemed. Harry just wanted to make sure everyone there was having a good night.

He sort of feels shit for not knowing, not complimenting him on his house and not thanking him for hosting or for having them there.

_Oh well_, Louis thinks. _It's not like they'll be seeing each other any time soon_.

They roll up to Niall's sooner than Louis had thought and Niall gets out quickly without another word.

"Uh. I'm just... I'm gonna—“ Liam stutters, opening his door and pointing lamely towards Niall's house.

Louis doesn't get a sound out before Liam's chasing hastily after Niall and letting Zayn and Louis sit in silence as the car turns away.

For the first time since they arrived at the party, Louis sees the time on the car's clock: 6:04AM

He's been up for about twenty-four hours, now, having not been able to sleep the night before. With that knowledge now in his brain, Louis looks out the window to the lightening sky and feels his eyes droop heavily as a sudden reaction.

The ride is silent. There's a faint song playing from the radio but Louis can only make out the soft strums of a guitar and a whisper of a voice.

Louis' stomach rumbles, one that vibrates, and suddenly without the distraction of people or alcohol or excitement, Louis realises he hasn't eaten since noon.

"Stay at mine." Zayn says to Louis. His voice comes out low and his words all string and slur together as one. When Louis looks at him he's faced with closed eyes and his head resting against the seat, notably ready for bed.

"Okay." Louis says without question. He knows how Zayn's been feeling ever since he caught him alone on the dance floor and he knows that something happened tonight that made him and Niall's moods turn foul. Maybe he just needed someone to be with for the night.

They park outside of Zayn's apartment block (still having not moved out, despite their sudden rise in income) and they thank the driver before climbing out.

No words are said between them even as they walk together, or enter the building, or ride up the elevator, or even after they enter Zayn's apartment. Zayn fixes them both a glass of water as Louis slumps onto the kitchen stool. Zayn takes out a pan, takes out a bottle of pre-made pancake mixture and starts to cook wordlessly.

It's when Zayn's flipping the first batch that Louis' patience wears thin. "So." He says, voice rough and notices how Zayn's movements stutter. "Are you gonna tell me what's gone on?"

"I don’t—" Zayn stops himself, flipping a pancake roughly, "I don't know if I should."

Louis frowns, tries not to be hurt. Zayn's told Louis absolutely everything. Ever since forever, without problems or hesitation.

"O...kay?" He questions slowly, then watches as Zayn sighs, "Just, I think Liam definitely knows. So, like." Something clicks in Louis' head. "Hang on, is this about me?"

"No," Zayn reassures, turning to face him, "No, Lou, it's not."

"Well, it's affected you and Niall pretty badly. I mean you both couldn't even look at each other, could you?" Louis says, "And I think if there's a tiff in the band we should all be clued in, isn't that what we promised when we initially—?”

"Niall and I kissed."

"You..." Louis finds himself saying before he even properly processes the words. His first reaction shows his eyebrows reaching his hairline, breathing through his mouth slowly in an exasperated fashion. Secondly, he blinks, stares hard at the marble countertop in front of him, tries to picture how that even came about. He pictures a chaste kiss, one that he and the band do all the time. It couldn't have been one of those. Lastly, he looks at Zayn, begs for clarification silently.

Zayn just places the pile of pancakes onto a plate, his jaw tensed so hard Louis can see the strain of it.

"We were dancing, yeah?" He explains, Louis' mind quickly rushing to listen, to follow. "Just... Being so caught up in, like, the thrill of it all and," He shakes his head, then, occupying himself with starting another batch. "Usually we joke around. Stupid fucking jokes about, like, leaning in but not actually doing it or just, I don't know, flirting, I guess? But," He pauses, swallows. "Tonight we didn't pull away."

Louis lets himself breathe, realises his chest was restricting the entire time Zayn had been talking. He and Niall kissed. Two of Louis' bandmates, two of Louis' best friends.

The more Louis thinks about it the more, surprisingly, it doesn't sound that bad.

"That's okay, though, right?" Louis asks, finding his voice. "Like, everyone kisses their friends sometime in their lives, probably. So what? You were both high on life and had a bit of love to give." He shrugs even though Zayn's not looking and decides to dig into the plate of pancakes, tearing one in half. "Talk with him tomorrow and I'm sure you'll both have a laugh about it and you can be back to being best mates."

Zayn flips a pancake and it sizzles. He bites his lip.

Louis demolishes the one in his hand, finding out how hungry he really is. It's not until Louis' finished his second when Zayn talks again.

"That's the problem, Lou." Zayn says slowly as though he wants him to listen to every word. He faces him and Louis' heart almost breaks in two with the sadness in his eyes. He can tell he's filled with trepidation, anxiousness with what he's about to say. Something in Louis knows exactly what it is before he says it. But he's still left in shock when he says, "I don't want to be just mates.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning brings a slicing headache and a foul taste in his mouth.

He groans to himself, unable to move. His eyes blink open reluctantly, room still dark but a hint of light peeks underneath the blinds. He wants to roll out of bed, get up and shower and brush his teeth, drink some water and maybe take some paracetamol.  But he turns his head and even that makes his head pulse with pain. Fuck.  He spots Zayn's figure next to him, curled up in the duvet with only the top of his head peeking through.  Louis' mind goes back to last night — not the Grammy's nor the afterparty or anything to do with Harry Styles — but when he had arrived here at Zayn's apartment.

After Zayn's confession, Louis hadn't known what to say besides a lame, "_Oh_."

Zayn had went on to how stupid it was, how idiotic he is and how he knows it'll "never happen." Louis later found out that Zayn had been secretly crushing on Niall since the band had formed but hadn't thought it was anything serious and that he instinctively knew Niall would never feel the same.

Louis also found out that the kiss had solidified every fleeting thought Zayn had of liking him, and it was the overwhelming realisation that had shaken him the most. But then Liam had caught them and once they pulled apart he had seen the dawning shock of what they'd done on Niall's face, which had promoted the unexpected throwing up situation.

"He vomited straight after, like." Zayn laughed weakly, shaking his head. "That's why I felt so shit. And that's when you found me on the dance floor, like, a minute or so later."

Louis had given him a comforting hug, words of reassurance. Then he had veered them to bed, prompting Zayn to get some rest and they'll work it out when they're awake and more alive.

Louis had thought, at that time, that those two things would go hand in hand. Now he's found out that he’s most definitely alive — for the most part — but also very much like death is at his door.

He lies there for a moment or two, studying at the ceiling. He reeks of alcohol and smoke, his cologne no longer distinguishable.

It's no use laying in bed any longer. If he could, he'd lay there all day. But his stomach's yearning for food despite the pancakes they had before he slept and he _really_ needs to pee.

With a grunt he removes the blanket off himself and lets his legs slide off the bed. He lifts himself upwards, head being the last thing to be set straight and the movement makes his head pound. He sits there for a minute, reorienting himself and letting the dizziness subside before he finds the strength to push himself up onto his feet.

Shuffling along the floorboards with his palm to his eye, rubbing softly with a yawn, he enters the bathroom. The tiles are cold against his feet and Louis goes straight to the toilet, letting the toxins from the night before leave his body.

He looks in the mirror. His face scrunches up in disgust. His hair's a right mess, looking spiky and fluffy in the worst way. His eyes have bags — worse than his usual, ever-present ones —and his eyelids have barely opened. There's still a faint hint of eyeliner around his eyes, smudged and worn-down, making him look slightly like a raccoon.

It's a lovely sight, really, and Louis promptly splashes his face with water to make do, too lazy to get into the shower just yet.

He makes himself a bowel of cereal and plonks himself in front of the T.V. He plans on spending the whole day exactly like this. Not moving, not thinking, not doing a thing besides watching trashy shows and eating.

He does have a second where he thinks about calling Niall, or Liam, and telling them to come over to at least talk. But then he thinks about Zayn, still wrapped up in bed and probably not moving for another three hours, and thinks better of it.

Half an hour later, Louis finally gets himself into the shower after accidentally smelling his armpits when he slung his arms over the back of the couch. He washes himself as best he can; reading Zayn's pretentious beauty products and mocking their labels — "'_leaving you with a golden touch_' what the fuck is that even supposed to mean?" — before stepping out and wrapping himself in a towel.

He brushes his teeth, too, the grime of it getting the better of him. And after getting dressed in Zayn's clothes and chugging a boatload of water, Louis feels significantly better.

At around quarter to five in the afternoon, Zayn stumbles out of his bedroom.

"Oh, there he is!" Louis announces, tea warm in his hands as he splays himself on the couch.

Zayn stops minutely in his steps before looking over at Louis, brows pulled together. He rubs a hand over his face as he mumbles, "Time's it?"

Louis tells him and Zayn's expression doesn't change much, he just moves his way over to the kitchen where Louis lets him know that the kettle's just boiled.

Zayn joins him with a cup of coffee and sits on the chair to the left of him, eyes hardly open and a resting sad look on his face. Louis scrunches his mouth, twists it uncomfortably, thinking.

He wonders how much of last night Zayn remembers. And if he does remember, he wonders how much he wants to talk about it. And if he wants to talk about it at all. Judging by the forlorn look on his face, though, Zayn remembers everything.

"How's the hangover?" Louis asks, feeling like a dick because he himself feels fine now. He knows if he were in Zayn's position he'd want to smack him in the face.

But Zayn just lets his eyes drag slowly from the wall to Louis' face from where he then shakes his head, the movement so tiny it's easily missed. He blinks once before he says, "I don't think I'll be able to face him, Lou."

And, shit. Louis' the worst at this. "Face who?"

Playing dumb is always the safest bet, he figures. It makes Zayn talk more that way, and talking lets himself work it out easier.

"_Niall_," He answers, exasperated. "There's no fucking way I'm... No way I'm seeing him for rehearsals tomorrow."

Louis swallows thickly. He was afraid of this. "Nah, mate, it's alright! Trust me, it won't be that weird. I promise you."

But Zayn's sure. And when he's sure of something, it's stuck that way, no amount of convincing possible. Louis' learnt that the hard way.

"Nup. No way I'm going. You can— you can talk to him, though, yeah?" Zayn flicks his eyes to Louis' face, only brightening just, like his idea is perfect, "Yeah, you'll be able to see, like, how he's feeling and if he’s—"

"Zayn." Louis sits up, stealing his attention. "You've known Niall for five years now! One stupid kiss isn't gonna affect shit!"

Zayn looks at him like a deer in headlights.

"You didn't see the way he looked at me afterwards."

Louis demeanour falters a little at that, at the way Zayn's voice breaks. "He was taken aback. I mean, if you and I kissed it'd be pretty much the same thing, I—"

"It's not happening, Louis." Zayn tells him, a final tone in his words.

They look at each other for a moment — Zayn slightly broken and pleading but firm in his jaw and eyes, Louis with sympathy written all over him and a look of regretful defeat — and Louis breaks the tension with a nod, to which Zayn copies and they both lean back in their respective seats, attention to the screen in front of them.

And that's that.

.

"Where's Zayn?"

The question comes soon enough, probably even a bit later than Louis had anticipated. He'd greeted Liam and Niall like normal, both of them looking relaxed and eager to start rehearsals for their tour. He had noticed Niall looking for Zayn, though, his eyes darting around not-so inconspicuously as he'd probably like to think.

"Uh, not well." Louis says, giving Niall a regretful expression, scratching his nose idly. "Won't be in today. Looked awful yesterday."

"Really?" Liam asks, stopping his movements from where he's twirling the drumsticks between his fingers.

Niall frowns at nothing in particular, then quickly returns his attention to tuning his guitar.

"Yeah, just, like, a bit sick?" Louis says, looking down at his bass even though he's ready to go. "Poor lad."

"Should we start with _Little Black Dress_?" Niall asks, looking at them expectantly.

Louis and Liam share a look. Louis' not entirely sure what Liam's trying to convey with it at all but he guesses it's something like worry, something like confusion and also something like let's-talk-later all in one.

They run through the song, and then they run through it again, Niall insisting it doesn't sound as good as it should. At the end of the second one, Niall lets out a short groan.

"It doesn’t— Louis, I think it's your bass." Niall tells him, pointing with a brow quirked.

Louis frowns instantly, "Watch it, mate. I'm playing fine."

"Well then _why_ does it sound so shit?" Niall asks, voice louder.

"Definitely isn't me, yeah? So you can stop with the blame game."

"Can we— can we do it again?" Niall looks like he's two seconds away from pulling out his hair.

"It's because we're missing Zayn." Liam pipes up, voice calm. "That's why it sounds shit."

"Then why are we even fucking here?" Niall blurts, coming out as though he's been waiting for the right time to say it. He lets himself turn around, walk a few paces away.

Louis swallows. He fidgets on his toes, bouncing while Liam looks just as out of place as he feels.

Then, Louis speaks up, "How about we call him, yeah?"

He has no idea if that's even the right thing to do. Zayn said he should talk to Niall, find out how he's feeling. He didn't say he wanted to talk to Niall. But Louis' programmed to go against what he's been told and follow his gut instinct instead. And right now his gut instinct is telling him to do all he can to stop this absolute fuckery going any further than it has.

That plan all goes to shit, though, if the wide-eyed glare Niall's giving him is anything to go by.

"Nah, no." He says, shaking his head. "He's sick. Better not disturb him. It's fine."

Louis wishes he could shake him, tell Niall he knows all about it and tell them they're both acting like dickheads at this point.

But then Liam's phone rings and everyone's attention is drawn to it.

"Oh," Liam says in surprise, then quickly shuffles upwards to get access to the pocket of his jeans. He slides his phone out, looks at the Caller ID with a shocked yet pleased expression then mumbles something like, "'M gonna get this." Before walking off the stage and answering with a "Hey, mate! How're ya?"

And it's just Louis and an idiot, standing on the stage with no words between them but a million things to say.

"What's wrong with you, Niall?" Louis asks, tone soft and cautious as he takes off his bass guitar and sets it down on the stand.

When he looks back up, Niall's toying with his bottom lip desperately, looking like he's about to burst out the seams.

"C'mere, lad." Louis says, sitting down on the edge of the stage and patting the spot next to him invitingly.

Niall doesn't seem reluctant at all to snag the spot, letting his legs hang off the stage. He takes in a breath, then from where his fingers scratch idly at his 5 o'clock shadow, he lets his hand gesture wildly.

"I freaked out, Lou. _Fuck_, I freaked out. I didn't even know what was happening at the time, didn't even have time to process the bloody thing and then before you know it I'm fucking vomiting in the bathtub like a twat. I'm so fucking angry at myself, man. So fucking angry because he didn't even do anything _wrong_ and now he probably thinks I didn't enjoy it, which I did, but he wouldn't even know, would he?" He takes a break from his one hundred mile per second, heavily Irish rant to let out a humourless chuckle, "'Course he wouldn't, we've hardly even spoken a word about it since.”

Louis registers all of it at once. He breathes out, puffing his cheeks, a little overwhelmed. He’d thought he might have had to try harder to get it out of him.

"Niall, look, I—“

"And if we _do_ talk, the fuck am I gonna say? We've never had a serious conversation in our lives, it'd be so fucking awkward, wouldn’t it? I'm not good at this stuff, Louis, especially with him."

He's never seen Niall so distraught. Even when they were all in an elevator and it had broken down. Even when they were in Barcelona and all lost each other in amongst the crowd.

"Alright, Niall," Louis starts, hand on Niall's knee, he waits until he's looking at him, "Are you done?"

He gets a nod in response.

"Okay, firstly. Listen," Louis lets out a sigh of impatience, moves the hand on Niall's knee to clutch at his shoulder instead, "You gotta talk!"

“But—"

Louis shakes his head, "You're beating yourself up over something that could be so easily avoided."

Niall just looks put out. He locks his eyes onto nothing in particular and his brows are set in an anxious curve that tugs on Louis' heart-strings a little. He scoots closer to him until their thighs touch and then Louis' wrapping an arm around him, bringing him closer until Niall's head rests on his shoulder.

"I'll talk to him, then." Niall mumbles, extremely, over-the-top enthusiastic about that very idea.

Louis can't help but let out a short laugh, "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think it'd be the best thing to do."

"Yeah," Niall replies softly, "I know."

Louis smiles and then presses a secure kiss on top of Niall's head. Niall lets out a miniature groan.

"Why couldn't I have liked you instead?" He asks.

Louis barks out a laugh, squeezes Niall a bit tighter. He uses the hand that's resting on Niall's arm up to his hair, feeding his fingers through it, "You couldn't handle me, love."

"Alright, Harry, alright." Liam's voice comes closer, back on stage. Louis' head whips around at the name. "See you then. Okay," A laugh. "Love you, too. Bye."

As soon as Liam hangs up, Niall and Louis question in unison, "_Harry_?"

Niall follows up with a, "As in, Harry Styles?"

"Crazy, right?" Liam grins, "Must have exchanged numbers at the party."

Louis twists his whole body so he's looking at Liam front-on, "Why on Earth are you saying ‘_love you_’ to Harry Styles?"

"He says it all the time," Liam replies, smiling at the ground as he shakes his head fondly. And, _what_?

"How many bloody times are you talking?"

Liam picks his head up at that. He seems surprised by Louis but, honestly. Just on Saturday they'd been fanboying over none other that the famous Mr Styles, and now Liam's got his number to which phone calls happen all the time? But Liam merely shrugs in response, moving over to sit back down at his drum kit. 

Louis swings his legs back up on the stage and stands up, "What did he want, then?"

"He's coming to my party." Liam says, a slow, winning grin enveloping his face.

"Your birthday." Louis blinks. "Right. The one this Friday."

Liam clicks his fingers at his direction. "Only got the one, Tomlinson."

"Right." Louis repeats again. He hadn't even given Harry a second thought all day, hadn't even let him cross his mind once — and now he's thinking about him and his annoying face with ugly dimples and red lips and funny hair and ridiculous clothing — and he thinks about how in God's name he's supposed to face him again.

.

He goes back to Zayn's apartment afterwards, not needing anything from his own apartment in L.A just yet, and he's surprised to find Zayn perched on his kitchen bench, an opened packet of gummy worms beside him as Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan plays loudly in the background. Louis steps in hesitantly, taking in Zayn, looking at him with his brows pinched together.

He's doing a word-search, or crossword, or something boring of the like from the newspaper, slightly bopping his head with a hand rolled cigarette perched behind his ear and completely unaware of the fact that Louis' even opened the door.

Wanting to teach Zayn a very well-learnt lesson — to always be aware of his surroundings and to lock his fucking door — Louis creeps further inside, not bothering to shut it in case it makes a sound. He tiptoes over the floorboards, moves away and out of Zayn's eyesight.

He's about an inch away from him, fingertips hovering in the air between them and seconds away from jolting him in the sides with a loud yell, hopefully resulting in making Zayn fly upwards so far he falls off the bench in a panic, limbs flailing.

But then, in unfortunate timing, the song fades to its end and the apartment goes silent.

"Hey, Louis." Zayn replies casually, not even turning around.

Louis' whole body falls in disappointment. "Are you _kidding_ me? How'd you know I was there?"

Zayn still doesn't turn but Louis can see his shit-eating smirk from here. He taps the side of his head with two fingers, "Superpower."

Louis rolls his eyes and departs from him as a PARTYNEXTDOOR song starts up. He opens the fridge, scans the lack of groceries and opts for a glass of coke. When he sits down on one of the kitchen stools, Zayn's already looking at him expectantly, waiting.

Louis locks eyes with him as he takes a sip. "If you think I'm telling you anything whilst competing with this noise then you—"

Zayn switches the music off in one swift movement with the remote, and then looks at him even more expectantly, like that's even possible.

"Have a good day off?" Louis asks, giving him a polite smile.

Zayn promptly throws the pen that's in his hand and it hits Louis square in the face.

"What did he say?"

Louis scoffs, offended. "I'm not telling you anything now. I don't know about you but I'm not one to appreciate being hit with pens."

It's then, that Zayn shifts into his pouty mode, Bambi-eyes in full force. He bats his eyelashes once with a soft, pleading, "Lou."

It elicits a frustrated sigh from Louis. "I don't even know how I got into the middle of this mess."

Zayn's brows rise with hope, "So he spoke to you?"

"Yeah, he spoke to me." Louis tells him reluctantly, the chair suddenly becoming uncomfortable. He hates he-said-she-said bullshit. Or he-said-he-said. 

"And?"

"And..." Louis averts his eyes, lets his hand rest on the bench as he gestures side to side. He sucks in a breath and then looks at Zayn, "I'm gonna just tell you what I told him: Talk to each other."

Zayn doesn't say anything for a moment, his face set in stone. Then he blinks and it’s a sign of life. But he's still unimpressed. "You're a hopeless friend."

Louis grins, "Thanks, man. I love you too."

Fingers find Zayn's eyes and he's rubbing in annoyance, "I've got one day until I have to face him."

"Him as in Niall." Louis reinforces, subtly telling Zayn how absolutely ludicrous this all is. "Niall who you've known forever. Niall who loves us all unconditionally. Niall who never makes anything awkward, ever. Niall who could probably make a piece of shit on the side of the road smile."

Zayn lets out a small snort.

"The more you think about it the more you'll freak out." Louis continues, sliding off the stool and wagging his finger at him with every word, "I know how that head of yours works."

"Yeah, yeah." Zayn agrees, sliding his fingers through his hair.

Louis gives him a smile before downing his glass. He puts out his hand and Zayn gives it a slap, sliding together in familiar movement. "I'll see you later, alright?"

"You better."

He slides away from Zayn's hand to Zayn's knee and squeezes it before turning away. He's about five steps to the door before Zayn's speaking again.

"Oh, uh, by the way," He's scratching just above his ear idly, avoiding Louis' eyes like he's afraid of what Louis will say, "Harry sent me a text just before—"

"Bloody hell, you all really did hit it off with him, didn't you?"

Zayn frowns, "Why do you say that?"

"Liam got a call from him about an hour ago."

"Oh. Then I suppose you know he's coming this weekend?"

"Yes, yes." Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair, "I know. Should be great, shouldn't it?"

Zayn looks at him, bored. "Your words are dripping with so much sarcasm there's a puddle on the floor."

Louis lets a smile grow, "Have fun cleaning it up." He gives him an air kiss and Zayn rolls his eyes but not before giving into a smile as Louis exits.

He'll see him again on Wednesday for their day of interviews, promoting their upcoming tour. Louis' just glad it starts at the end of this year and then after twelve shows they'll be back in England, away from Los Angeles and its pretentious bullshit.

.

Back home, he collapses face first onto his bed.

He really hasn't had much time to really process the entire weekend fully. It sort of catches up to him in a blur — stepping out from the limo, crowds full of familiar faces, screaming fans and flashing lights — and from the red carpet being one of the last sober moments he had before waking up the next day, he doesn't remember much else other than it being a hazy thought.

Performing still feels like a dream, _winning_ still feels like a dream.

He wonders how the people at home saw their performance, what they thought about it. He hasn't had time to even take a glance at the press or see the media at all.

He lazily takes out his phone from his back pocket and shuffles up the bed so his head is resting on the pillow, arms out before him.

He goes onto YouTube, types in 'One Direction Grammy' and two top searches come up. One of their performance, one of their speech. Their performance has more views, but only just.

Seeing himself and the boys on stage with the lights dimmed and Niall being lit is more effective than Louis had thought. They sound great, Louis' bass shining through as Niall sings.

When it's Louis' turn to sing, he turns up the volume. He listens a bit more closely, nit-picks his voice. There's a couple of flat notes, not too noticeable but Louis picks it up straight away. He doesn't look at the camera once, either, whereas the other boys all successfully gain chemistry with the viewers at home.

He feels slightly disappointed in himself. The performance looked like they're having a lot of fun, and they do sound and look like genuine, hard-working artists.

But Louis can't shake those words that he was told when they were only a year into it, just starting out. He'll never shake those words until he's perfect.

He scrolls down to the comments, the top three being fans and exclaiming how proud they are and how great they did. Louis' heart never fails to swell at their kind words, and it's the best motivation for him to keep going.

There's a few negative comments amongst it, mostly staying that they didn't deserve to win and '_who are these punks???_' but overall they're mostly positive. It's quite a shock, seeing as this is the most attention they've gotten since they've begun.

Louis looks to the other videos, watches the one where they collect their award. It's so completely obvious they're absolutely hammered, Louis cringes in embarrassment as he notices his own glassy eyes and flushed cheeks on the screen. A few shots of the audience show that they're laughing good-naturedly, though, so Louis supposes they got away with it.

Their public relations manager, Sasha, hadn’t let them get away with it. Louis had copped an ear-full when she had called him, and with a hungover mind he hadn’t responded with much at all. Hardly listened, if he’s honest. 

He spots a video of Zayn and Niall on the red carpet, having an interview. He goes onto it curiously, smiling at the way Zayn looks utterly stunned in front of the camera whilst Niall falls into it with ease, shamelessly flirting with the interviewer.

"You're both looking marvellous tonight." She starts, her long hair thrown over her shoulder. "May I ask who you're wearing?"

"You may." Niall says with a sly grin. Louis can't help but snort.

They both give an answer, and then Niall compliments the interviewer, leaving her blushing.

"Well, uh, who are you most excited to see perform tonight?" She asks, recovering, "I know you guys are our opening act, so good luck."

"Thank you, thank you." Niall grins as Zayn forces a smile, "I'm gonna say Harry Styles. Don't you reckon?"

He turns to Zayn and Zayn nods, followed by a quick, "Yeah, yeah. He's cool."

Then, out of nowhere like he's just been fucking summoned, Harry comes into view behind the two of them, smiling cheekily with his dimples popping.

"Hiya, boys," He greets, absolutely loving the way Louis' bandmates practically let their jaws hit the floor at just the mere sight of him, "We've never met but I'm a big fan."

He holds out his hand and Zayn takes it first, giving it a shake.

Louis' mind goes back to the dressing room, goes back to Harry's incapability to even acknowledge him as a band member. Yet here he is, all chummy and wonderful in front of a camera on the red carpet talking to two obviously fawning fans. Liar.

"Yours, too, bro." Niall replies, shaking his hand. Zayn was right, Niall's voice really just went about two octaves deeper.

Then Harry's telling him he'll see them around and taps them both on the shoulder before disappearing back into the crowd. Niall and Zayn share a look of disbelief and then the interviewer gushes over Harry and how bloody charming he is and, shit, is _everyone_ in love with Harry Styles?

He looks at the panel of other videos, seeing an interview of Harry from what looks like another event and it's got more views than all three of those videos Louis just watched combined. He gives a dissatisfied scoff and rolls onto his back, tapping the video anyway.

It's a promotional interview for his upcoming album, it seems, and it's dated just a week before the Grammy's.

He's wearing a sheer shirt that doesn't leave much to the imagination and tight pants that flare out at the bottoms, much like his outfit two days ago. He's the strangest yet most bland person Louis' ever seen and he has no idea why people like him so much.

"Your single _Sweet Creature_ has had tremendous success since you released it, should we expect a similar sound for the album?"

Harry gets comfortable in the chair, leaning back and placing his hands on the armrests, the size of them making Louis frown.

"I don't want to give away too much but there is a sort of flow with it, but it also has songs in there that are quite different."

It's the most basic, generalised answer Louis' ever heard. Yet, of course, the interviewer still nods and looks intrigued like Harry's just given him a world first.

"And is the single based on anyone in particular? I know that everyone's dying to find out."

"I mean," Harry begins, looking upwards and itching underneath his chin. He sort of scrunches up his mouth then says, "It's all open to interpretation, isn't it? I could say it's about someone and I could say it's about nobody, you know? I think, with music, it's fun to create your own ideas and own perspectives of what or who the song's trying to convey."

Again, the emptiest, most deflective answer.

"Bloody hell." Louis says under his breath. He exits out of the app and drops the phone onto the bed.

Why does he have to be so airy-fairy about shit? Louis doesn't understand any of it; how hard is it to be upfront and honest? What's the point in doing interviews if you're not straight forward with your answers?

He doesn't know what annoys him more, that, or the fact that its got millions of views.

Or maybe it's the fact that there's a tiny part of him nagging to look him up some more.

He never pinpoints which one.

.

"Coffee for you, Louis?"

The question comes in amongst the flurry of others that he had never been asked before — _Is this seat comfortable? Would you like the air-con on? Are you hungry?_ — and every single time Louis almost laughs in response, makes a joke about the sudden improvement in hospitality. But then he registers the fact that these interviewers are in a room with this year's Grammy winners, this year's most popular up-and-coming artist, and realises that they — themselves — are kind of a big deal.

It's the second interview today. The first one was fun, despite the tiredness Louis felt (it was completely self-induced since he had laid in bed watching a certain singer's music videos and lost track of the time — and he only watched because if Louis' going to dislike this guy, he's got to know what he's _actually_ about — and definitely wasn't impressed with a single one).

"No, love, thank you." Louis smiles at the girl who couldn't be much younger than himself, "Water's fine."

She nods and moves swiftly away, focusing on something a lot more important than asking what four boys would prefer to drink. Liam's getting touched up in the corner, a lady dabbing his nose with a brush lightly. Zayn's over near the window, phone to his ear to someone Louis' not sure of and Niall's remaining in the same spot he was earlier, glancing at nothing in particular and chewing at the side of his finger.

Louis lets out a small sigh and collapses on the couch so they're next to each other, and waits until Niall's looking at him. "You haven't said a word to him."

It's true. They didn't even have time to greet each other, since Louis and Zayn had arrived late and they were running overtime, the interview having to start right away. During it, Niall and Zayn had been separated by two boys and Louis, in the middle, had felt the tension radiating off both of them so much that he'd felt himself become fidgety. He hopes it's not able to be picked up through the camera, the last thing he'd want is for their band, just as they're rising to fame, to be splashed across headlines that say there's tiffs happening within it.

"Hasn't spoken to me, either." Niall mumbles back, eyes on his chewed fingers.

"Touché." Louis replies.

"Alright." George slaps his hands together, bringing the attention to him. The thing Louis likes about their manager is that there's no bullshit, no 'making-nice' with them. He's there to do his job and he's there to do it well. "Sabrina, you're up. You've got ten minutes and I suggest you use it wisely. Boys!" He calls, more so over to Liam and Zayn, since Louis and Niall are already in their places, "Chop, chop, we're starting this."

"Jesus," A tan-skinned, tall woman rushes to sit down on the opposing chair, flipping her hair out of her eyes as she scans over the cue-cards quickly. Her attention's switched to Zayn and Liam, who sit down on the couch and then it's as if she's seeing them all for the first time, a hint of alarm in her eyes. "Oh! Hi, guys, I'm Sabrina."

"Hello." Liam replies, the rest of them giving her a warm smile.

"I'm sorry if I, like, fuck up the words or laugh unexpectedly. This is my first time doing this and I'm super fucking nervous." She says, words fast. "If you didn't already notice."

"Not to worry, babe." Louis tells her, shrugging, "Just have some fun with it."

And then the camera's going on and Sabrina takes in a breath before the camera crew counts her down and the interview starts.

She gives an introduction, then turns to the boys and asks them how they all are. It's the usual procedure and she looks like a natural doing it, her nerves suddenly leaving.

"So, I'm sure you get asked this all the time, but your fans on Twitter really want to know." She glances down at her cards again before looking back up, "Who's single here?"

"We all are." Louis replies easily.

Her eyebrows rise, "Really? All of you?"

Zayn nods beside him. Niall laughs.

"Everyone's always so surprised." Liam says with a chuckle.

"Well, you're four very attractive guys, if you don't mind me saying." She gestures to the lot of them.

"Not at all." Niall says suggestively. It's comforting to know that even in the midst of problems within his own love-life, he's still a bloody flirt.

"I'm just surprised ladies haven't snatched any of you up yet."

Liam takes that, going on to talk about busy schedules and how hard it is to find someone to settle down with. Meanwhile, Louis snickers into Zayn's shoulder, absolutely astounded that there's still people out there who think they're all straight.

"Other celebrities would be your best bet, now, wouldn't they?" She goes on to ask, then gestures to Niall specifically, "Who would be your celebrity crush?"

Niall pretends it's hard, pretends he's searching for an answer as though he hasn't been in love with Justin Bieber ever since they all went to his concert in 2014.

Louis' looking at him, but his attention's swayed when he feels Zayn moving in closer to his ear before whispering, "Should we give her a shock-answer for us? Seeing as she thinks we're hetero as fuck?"

Louis lets out a quiet laugh from his nose before turning and saying into Zayn's ear, "Maybe we should tell her you and Niall want to fuck, that'd be a shocker."

Zayn jerks his head back, gives Louis a look as if to say _what the fuck, dude_?

"What's going on here?" Sabrina asks, making the two of them look at her. She's got a playful smirk, finger pointing between the pair.

"Oh," Zayn says, a mischievous smirk of his own as he pats Louis' knee twice, "Louis here was just telling me that his celebrity crush is Harry Styles."

Louis squeaks internally. His face remains dead-pan, not wanting to make a big deal in case people take it seriously, but his heart stammers.

"Ah, yes," Louis flicking his fringe to the side and moving it with his hand, acting fast. Then, with a dramatic roll of the eyes, "Love that guy."

Thankfully, it's all played off as a joke. Sabrina laughs heartedly with a, "Don't we all?" And then she moves on to finally talk about their tour.

Throughout the rest of it, Louis formulates a plan to get back at Zayn. He's riled with anger, hoping Harry never finds this interview once it's uploaded possibly an hour after they've wrapped this up. Hopes that Harry doesn't watch their videos late at night like Louis does his.

And, fucking hell. Who even is he anymore?

.

After a day of promotion and a day of constantly flicking Zayn in the ear and pouring salt instead of sugar in his coffees, Louis' exhausted.

Liam suggests they should all go out for dinner somewhere, have a band-date, but Louis' just so tired he'd rather nothing more than to go to bed.

Zayn and Niall had ended up talking — not about the situation, but just small talk — and it, remarkably, had lifted up the moods of everyone involved. It still didn't stop Louis from mucking up Zayn's hair every time he walked passed, though.

Louis walks into his small excuse of an apartment (even though he's a celebrity now, it's still fucking expensive to buy even a decent lot anywhere in the heart of L.A) and drops his keys into the bowl by the door before kicking off his shoes, not caring where they land.

He flicks on the kettle and undoes the buttons of his jeans, the fabric of them so tight everywhere that Louis has to peel them off. They're white and high-waisted and Louis tries to think back to how his stylist had even pulled them over his thighs this morning. His shirt is faux-leather with rolled up sleeves and a scooped neck, his collarbones peeking out. It's quite heavy, though, so Louis takes that off too.

He's left naked, then, in the middle of his kitchen since underwear was not an option with pants that tight and, actually, see-through. He hopes at least the fans love his clothes; since he's starting to wonder if he does anymore.

He picks up the pile and walks over to his bedroom, dunking them into his hamper. He looks at his en suite, at the bath he hasn't used since he bought the damn place and thinks: fuck it.

He gets the taps running and goes back into the kitchen to pour his cuppa. Then he grabs it and his phone and goes back to the bathroom. It's a huge bath, way too big, if he's being honest, so he steps in it before it's even filled and lets the water rise around him, the warmth of it already relaxing.

He's just laid his head back and closed his eyes, when his phone vibrates behind him.

Frowning, he picks up his phone and sees the notification splayed on the screen.

Harry_Styles: _Sad. And here I thought we got on tremendously_, @Louis_Tomlinson.

Louis' heart quickens in pace. _Why_ is he tweeting him? He doesn't even follow him.

And like clockwork, as soon as that thought enters his mind, his phone buzzes yet again.

_ Harry Styles is now following you! _

Louis lets his head loll back against the bath, looking towards the ceiling. He's going to kill Zayn Malik. He'll kill him, fly to a different country and change his name. Who needs to be successful and famous, anyway? Louis could do perfectly fine in a part-time job with minimum wage. He could manage that, he could.

But before he can even consider ways for Zayn to die and what new name he should call himself, he has to figure out what the fuck he should reply to Harry.

Because he has to reply, doesn't he?

Everyone knows it's tweeted, now. It's out there, it's seen. There'll be people awaiting his response, people dying to know the new-found feud they've created, people needing to know where they should stand.

He sighs, turns off the taps since the sound is too much for his head right now, and looks at his phone again. He swipes the notification, leading him to the Twitter app and sees Harry's tweet, already with thousands upon thousands of interactions with it. But, also, attached is a link to an article that Louis hadn't seen before.

It's from _The Sun_ — because of course it is — and the headline is no other than “Punk Band One Direction SHADES Worldwide Star Harry Styles?"

The picture is of the interview with Sabrina, a screen-cap of Louis' eyes rolling and the other three looking at him and laughing. He can only imagine what the Harry fans are already saying about him. He really will kill Zayn.

Reluctantly he opens the article. It's starts off harmless enough, introducing their band with relevant facts such as their Grammy win and performance, as well as their upcoming tour. Then it shows Niall and Zayn's red carpet interview, stating that this is the first time they had collided with Harry and it "appeared friendly enough". But then it's obvious where the article comes into play.

"On the topic of celebrity crushes, bandmates Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik share a secret conversation with laughs and whispers, before joking about the much loved superstar."

Following from that, it transcribes the Sabrina interview that's linked at the very end of the article. And in a piece that locks in a very bias view of the whole debacle, it says:

"All we know is that if we were Louis and the gang, we'd definitely want Harry Styles and his fanbase on our side! Bad move, 1D."

Louis lets out a pained groan.

At least, in the very small glimmer of bright sides, he looks good. His hair is quiffed up and dropped to the side, and the light coat of mascara accentuates the blueness of his eyes in the bright lighting. It’s an extremely stark contrast to the deflated mop of hair on his head right now and indisputably smudged make-up from the steam of the bath. 

He goes back onto the tweet, tapping the reply button. He waves his thumbs over the keyboard, not knowing even the slightest of what he should say.

It's obviously a joke, his tweet. He's being a tease, is what he is. There's no other explanation for him to tag Louis, tweet this and provide a link. Unless he really is hurt by it, but Louis — despite his lack of knowledge of what does and doesn't get to Harry — doesn't think that's true.

So Louis could joke back. Could make it seem like it's a bit of banter between friends, make all of Harry's fans who are seriously considering coming into Louis' home with pitchforks and fire to settle down. But Louis hasn't even followed him back.

He could take the serious route, though. Could apologise, make it out as though it was Zayn who had a crush on him instead of himself (that'd be a sure way of getting him back). That way there would be nothing misconstrued, nothing that could be interpreted as flirting.

Louis inhales sharply at that last thought. _Is_ Harry flirting?

He quickly exits out of Twitter and pulls up his messages with Zayn.

Louis: _You're dead for this Malik !!_

Zayn: 😂❤️

Zayn: _What are u gonna reply_

Louis: _No idea_

A few seconds pass and Louis feels the water slowly getting colder.

Zayn: _Just tell him there's no shade and that you're an honest man_

Louis scoffs at the idea. It's a flat out lie and it's completely contradictory. But then Louis gets an idea.

Louis: _If I say that then you have to promise me you'll kiss Niall again Friday night_ 😎

The bubbles that indicate Zayn's typing show up straight away and then disappears just as quickly. Louis grins at his phone. There's no way he'll even consider doing—

Zayn: _Fine_

Louis almost drops his phone in the bath. This was supposed to be a relaxing time, he was supposed to sleep and listen to music, for God's sake.

He swallows roughly and reluctantly switches back to Twitter. Still there, in all its glory, is Harry's tweet. The interactions on it have duplicated tenfold, and Louis figures he should bite the bullet and silence speculation before shit stirs more than it has.

Screw Harry Styles.

Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles _We did, love . I'm a man of my word _

It's out there now, ready to be digested from the public and all of social media. And Harry, too.

Zayn: _... I didn't think you'd actually do it_

Louis: _Pucker up princess !_ 😈

Although Louis' won, in a sense, he sort of feels out of sorts. He's publicly interacting with Harry, about supposedly crushing on him.

It couldn't have been about music or football or pop culture or anything else. But quite frankly he thinks this bath has been nothing but a waste of time and has caused nothing but a kink in his neck.

He drains the tub once he leaves it, patting himself dry with a towel and wrapping it around his waist until he can be bothered finding other clothes. He's draining his unfinished, cold tea down the sink when a familiar buzz fills the room.

Harry_Styles: @Louis_Tomlinson _Then why aren't you following me?_ 😞

Well. Louis looks at his phone, mouth agape. One, because he hadn't expected a reply so quickly. Two, because Harry Styles is sad due to the fact that Louis isn't following him. Three, it's just — the whole fucking thing is absurd.

But Zayn and Niall have to kiss again at Liam's party because of this so Louis counts it as a win... And he simply can't leave it now.

He picks up his phone and opens the notification, a reply coming quickly this time.

Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles _Are you always this needy ?_

It's harmless, but it's not too friendly. Enough to not look like a dick, but doesn't give Harry the wrong idea. And, Jesus, since when was he such an over-thinker?

He ends up following Harry, because of course he does. His profile is so organised and his tweets sound like they were written by Siri herself. There's a few photos of him further down the page, one of his back, looking towards a sunrise. The caption, fittingly, is: Sunrise.

Louis scoffs to himself. Could he be anymore of a cliché?

His phone makes another sound. This time, it’s in the form of a direct message. 

Harry: _Will you be attending the party on Friday?_

Louis makes a vow to himself that he'll reply to this and then get his ass to bed. His brain is throbbing.

Louis:_ It's Liam's party_

Louis: _Of course I'm going_

He locks his phone, exits the bedroom and dives straight for his bed, not bothering with a light switch and using whatever backlight from the moon through his blinds to help him get comfortable.

Harry: _Wonderful. I'll see you there._

.

In the morning, Louis moves sluggishly to the kitchen, still completely naked and fixes himself up a bowel of Coco Pops and a tea.

He fits himself right in the middle of the couch, phone discarded in his bedroom where it belongs, and props his feet up on the coffee table, ready to watch his life away with whichever rerun of a reality TV show is on.

It's about five in the afternoon — Louis knows this because the news had rudely interrupted his episode of _Love Island_ with five o'clock news — when he hears his phone ringing.

Louis groans. "S'better be bloody important."

He walks back into his bedroom, phone still ringing loudly. It's their publicist.

"Sasha, hey." Louis greets through gritted teeth, preparing to be scolded for whatever he did wrong.

"Louis! Gosh, you're my favourite person ever right now." She practically squeals.

“I... Am?"

"Yes! I'm sure you've seen the developing story on yourself. The public are absolutely loving this, babe! It's so genius I don't even know how I didn't think of this myself. It's perfect timing, too, an excellent way for more people to get into _One Direction_ and buy tickets. If I was in charge of your pay rise I'd do it myself!"

"Hang on." Louis says, brows furrowing. There's an unsettling feeling in his stomach, already knowing what she's talking about but praying it's not that. "What developing story?"

There's a pause. Then, "Oh, honey. You mean you haven't been looking at every single social media platform today?"

"...No?"

She makes a sound of disappointment. "Babe, you and Harry Styles! Your interactions on Twitter blew up and everyone's _dying_ for a picture of you both together, or a collaboration. It's the best idea you've ever had and I for one stand behind it!"

Louis might actually throw up. "It was _his_ idea. _He_ tweeted me first."

"Anyway, I've spoken with Harry's team—"

"You_ what_?"

“—And we both think it would be a fantastic idea for you both to go out together next week! You know, obviously at Liam's birthday you'll both be there so photo opportunities will be a given, but _afterwards_—"

"No, no!" Louis throws his hand up into the air, pacing around his room. "Absolutely not."

"...No?"

"No." Louis states firmly. "There's no bloody way I'm... What, _frolicking_ in a park in public with Harry Styles for the sake of ticket sales? Jesus, I didn't even reply to him for publicity anyway."

"Darling," She says, matter-of-factly, "Everything celebrities do is for publicity. And you wouldn't be frolicking, per-se, it'd be a leisure outing with a friend.”

"Ugh," Louis says, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. He takes in a deep breath. He's sure as hell going to kill Zayn for this entire thing. He'll kill Niall, too, just for giving Louis a reason to reply to Harry. He'll kill Liam for having a birthday around this time and for getting Harry's number. Lastly, he'll kill Harry, once and for all. "I'm just not that keen on him, to be fair. We're two very different people."

"I beg to differ." Sasha rebuttals quickly, as though she'd say that to any excuse Louis came up with.

"Get the others to do it." Louis offers, tired. "They all love him, anyway. That would make more sense."

After a moment or two, he hears a dramatic sigh on the other line. "I suppose so. You're lucky George doesn't care about your public image and money, otherwise you'd be doing this, no questions asked."

Louis can't help but smile a little at that one, "Yes, I'm a very lucky boy."

.

Friday night comes around fast enough. It's amazing how fast the time goes when you're home alone doing absolutely nothing.

Louis' taken a long shower, shaved and drenched himself in cologne. He thought he already had his outfit down pat — a pair of light wash denim jeans with a black button-up — but now as he looks at the outfit splayed out on his bed, he starts to think it's not ‘Louis’ enough.

There'll be a few connections to the industry tonight, some that have known _One Direction_ ever since they were struggling to come up with the name and some that have just known who they are since the Grammy's. It's a vast collection, but most of them will be extremely fashionable and highly judgemental, Louis figures.

Ever since stepping foot into the limelight he and his bandmates are quite daring when it comes to outfits on stage. And ever since Louis' adopted his very own stylist, opting to put him in more risqué choices than he'd go for himself, he feels a certain sort of responsibility to keep up the trend.

He's bringing the phone to his ear before he even second-guesses what he's doing. He doesn't have time to second-guess, however, since the man on the other line picks up on the first ring.

"Louis? What on Earth could you possibly want at this time? I'm off duty."

"I know, I know. Sorry, I just need help with what to wear tonight."

He snorts, "To a party? I don't know, a jeans and a T-shirt?"

"Gee, thanks, I could've thought of that." He hears him chuckle and he makes his way over to his closet, staring at his options. "I want something of your taste. What— what would be Fernado-esque?"

A light laugh curls around his words as he says, "Fernado-esque? You sure know how to butter someone up, Tomlinson."

"So? What d'you reckon?"

.

Fernando had insisted on him wearing mauve coloured trousers paired with those white suspenders that he seemed to like so much on him. He doesn't bother putting them on, though, just lets them hang down on his hips. He couples it with a dark grey, long-sleeved shirt that's so tight he thinks if he made any sudden movements the seams would split. He rolls up the sleeves until they're just above his elbow and he turns to look into his full-length mirror.

He's happy with what he sees, all of it looking good together. He turns to his side, the curve of his back accentuated with how tightly the fabric clings to him.

The doorbell rings and Louis quickly looks at the time. It's ten to six, so that would be Niall.

"Come in!" He calls, opting to dart into the bathroom, needing to style his hair.

"Tommo, where are ya?"

"Here!"

He's in the middle of putting volume in the back parts of his hair when Niall enters, making his presence known with a long wolf whistle.

"Dressed to impress or what?"

Louis rolls his eyes, using the leftover gel on his fingers to swipe his fringe to one side. "Did you get the present?"

"Yeah," Niall says, and Louis can see in his peripheral how he holds up the bag. "Looking at you makes me feel so underdressed."

Louis looks to him, then, and he promptly makes a low whistle of his own. Niall's dressed in black skinny jeans and a white v-neck that shows off his arms and chest, his hair styled up and off his face and a big fat watch donning his left wrist.

"Don't put yourself down!" Louis says, walking over to put his hands on Niall's shoulders, "Zayn will be drooling over you."

Niall makes a face and knocks Louis' hands away, "Fuck off."

Louis just cackles in response and picks up his phones, keys and wallet. He chances one more glance at himself before nodding to Niall, "Ready?"

"Yeah," Niall replies, "Let's go."

The drive there is filled with Niall's anxious chatter and Louis' constant reassurance. He and Zayn haven't even spoken since the interview. And it's fucking crazy, really, because that day they seemed nothing but fine.

He supposes it's different when they're not together, though, since it's up to either one of them to text first. And it won't ever be Zayn, but Niall, bless him, is just so awkward with these situations.

"How're you gonna be tonight, do you think?" Louis asks, a tint of laughter threatening to spill out. Niall has no idea about Zayn and his little deal that was made Wednesday night.

Niall sighs as he turns a corner, "I don't know, mate. It'll be strange, I think, like, at first. But," He sighs again with a bit more frustration. "I just wanna sit down and talk to him. I hate this shit."

Louis takes pity on him. He smiles sympathetically, patting him on the back before squeezing his neck.

They pull up to Liam's, the place still quiet. He had wanted them all there at least an hour before all the guests arrived to pre-game and help set up any last minute things.

They walk up the driveway and to the front door, not bothering to knock and walk right in.

The place looks fantastic. There's banners and streamers and balloons, there's bowls upon bowls of food and stacks of plastic cups for everyone to use. There's a stereo system in the far right of his living room, already playing something at low volume. There's also a line of spirits on the kitchen bench, ready to be consumed.

"Looks like they've got everything sorted already." Louis notices.

"Yeah." Niall says, grinning. He elbows Louis lightly, "You want a drink?"

They end up having a shot of vodka, cursing like mad when they realise they didn't organise a chaser beforehand, revelling in the burn of it with sour looks on their faces.

"Beer?" Louis manages, coming up short when he looks in the fridge.

"Yeah, bring a cup." Niall says, "Liam said something about having a few kegs out the back."

Louis can't help but laugh, "D'you reckon the high and mighty celebs will have a stroke at the thought of pouring their own drinks?"

"And eating chips out of a shared bowel instead of being offered a varied array of hors d'oeuvres?" Niall accentuates the French accent on the word with a gesture with his hands, making Louis laugh some more.

"Yeah, probably."

Louis throws his arm around Niall's shoulders and they make their way out into the backyard. Before they get out there, though, they can see through the glass door with the help of the decking's lights, Liam and Zayn laughing over the keg doing something that seems like trying to set it up.

"I think I might go for another shot." Niall says, already trying to swirl away from Louis' arm.

"Oh no, you don't." Louis tugs at Niall's wrist, “C'mon." He opens the door, entering first but keeping a tight grip on Niall. "Lads! We've arrived!" Louis announces, grinning at Liam and Zayn.

"Hey!" Liam grins back, elongating the word. He's definitely had a head start on the drinks, then.

Louis looks at Zayn as soon as Niall's released from Louis' grip and goes straight over to Liam to greet him with a hug.

Zayn watches on, and despite the excitement in his eyes and his smile from seeing the two of them still on his face, Louis notices the sudden hard-set of his jaw and Louis takes no time in strolling over to him, hand resting on the space between his shoulder blades.

It's not weird that Niall would go straight to Liam — after all, it is his birthday — so it's nothing Louis should reprimand him for, but it just makes the anticipation of the eventual Zayn-and-Niall hug even more nerve-racking than it should be.

Christ, not even a week ago they were all sleeping on the trampoline with blankets over them in nothing else but underwear and socks and suddenly _now_ it's awkward?

"Would it be too late to back out of the deal? Y'know, the one we had?" Zayn asks, voice low and muted by the sound of Liam's loud laugh. Zayn's eyes are still on Niall and to anyone else it would seem as though he didn't say anything at all.

Besides, perhaps, for the fact that Louis scoffs loudly. He drops the hand on Zayn's back and turns so he's facing him front-on with furrowed brows and quirked lips. "Yes, actually. Way too late." Zayn locks eyes with him then, eyes sullen. "In case you haven't noticed, Zayner, I'm doing you a favour. Gettin' your arse into gear and all that."

Zayn stutters for a second at Louis' claim, then rolls his eyes as he pushes at Louis' shoulder lightly, "Piss off, yeah? You just wanted a reason to reply to Harry and to soothe your conscious—"

He's cut off by Louis' dramatic gasp, "How very dare you!" He goes to swipe at Zayn's face but of course Zayn knows him too well and blocks it in time, a smile growing. "You know, I'd have half a mind just to ruin your perfect hair—"

"Tommo!" Liam calls, making Louis turn to the sound. He's looking at him expectantly, arms outstretched and a pink tinge decorating the tops of his cheeks. "Come over and give me a cuddle."

And he's positively beaming at him, all giddy from the alcohol and the excitement and possibly a little more nervous about tonight than he'd admit, his fingers wiggling as a gesture for Louis to come closer.

"You're on your own, my dear lad." Louis whispers to Zayn, not missing the way his face sort of falls.

And then Louis' racing towards Liam and swooping him into a hug, making him laugh with surprise and squeeze him back just as hard.

"You're so old!" Louis exclaims, voice high.

He reaches up and messes with Liam's hair a little. Liam just laughs in response (and doesn't slap him like Zayn would) his eyes disappearing into half-moon slits, arm still wrapped around Louis' waist.

"Lou, you're a year older—"

"Sh!" Louis' quick to press a finger to Liam's lips, to which Liam laughs even further.

Louis drops his finger and lightly taps Liam's cheek, only laughing himself because of how contagious the sound is.

He flits his eyes over to Zayn and Niall, already having greeted each other. Niall's talking while rubbing the back of his neck nervously and Zayn's smiling at him, eyes filled with absolute wonderment. Louis' heart swells a little at the sight.

"Are you good with kegs, mate?" Liam asks, gesturing to the one in the middle of the four of them.

Louis gives him a look, "Am I good with kegs? Payno, please." Louis sets his cup down onto the grass, walking towards the leaking keg. "Are you forgetting the parties we went to?"

"I don't even remember half of them." Liam replies, honestly.

Louis laughs, "That'd be right."

He looks down at the beer soaked grass around his feet, guessing they tried to turn it on and it backfired, spraying everywhere. He takes one look at the handle and realises why.

"Here's your problem." He says, mostly to himself. He flicks the flanges out of their engaged position, then places and twists to lock the party pump on top. He turns the flanges and claps once in achievement when he sees no foam escaping, "And that's how you do it."

"Oh, Lou." Liam says dramatically, "My saviour."

"You're welcome, birthday boy." Louis replies, voice lacking enthusiasm. He walks over to where he's standing and picks up his cup. "Congrats on how you did the house, also. Proper frat-themed."

"Aw, cheers." He smiles wide and Louis tries not to laugh at the genuine gratitude. It's not until Louis' pouring himself a beer when Liam adds with sheer realisation, "Wait, what?"

.

Louis' on his fifth beer by the time the house is half-way full. They had spent the time while they were waiting for everyone to arrive by playing games and lightening the mood.

It's incredible how he and Liam can make the most out of awkward situations, even if it means making sure Zayn and Niall aren't in a position where it's just them two by themselves. Though, to be fair, Louis has to give Zayn credit from how greatly he's handled it, not shying away or trying to avoid Niall at all.

Louis feels for Niall, though, since having Zayn's eyes peering into the side of Niall’s face whenever he looks away is enough for anyone to turn bright red like he has. Flustered doesn't even begin to describe him.

He hasn't seen either of them for the past half hour, actually. And Liam hasn't either. He'd like to assume that they're off somewhere by themselves, actually talking about it, but Louis knows better and they're probably in two different groups altogether.

Liam, however, is someone Louis can see clearly. He's standing on his coffee table, grinning from ear to ear and slightly sweaty, rapping along loudly to one of Stormzy's new songs.

Who, evidently, is standing just below him, cup raised and rapping along. And, dear god. Liam's _rapping_.

Louis rushes over quickly and tugs on Liam's pants, looking around at the crowd that's cheering him on. And it's so, so odd seeing the celebrities that have been brought up with the glitz and glamour of it all so easily fitting in with this frat-boy aesthetic of a party. It's not exactly a crowd filled with Grammy stars (one that a certain Harry Styles attracts) but they're still all household names with reputations, all dressed up with the latest Gucci and Alexander Wang, net worth high in the hundreds and thousands.

Louis' seen their lives through their Instagram's, and now they're here, in Liam's house with paper cups filled with warm alcohol and dancing to songs played out of a second-hand stereo instead of a hired DJ, uncaring and totally obliterated. 

Surreal, is what it is.

"Lou-eh!" Liam shouts, arms thrown up to the roof with a prolonged note of the last syllable, oblivious to the splash of alcohol that finds itself on his shirt. "There you are!"

In any other instance, Louis would be asking Liam to pull himself onto the table, joining him and dancing — maybe even, god forbid, rapping — along with him with huge smiles and without a care. But Louis' held back on his rambunctious antics tonight, has departed from the usual sloppy-drunk Louis' used to being. He's actually watched what he's drinking and has carefully poured his own drinks with consideration.

He likes to think it's because he's turned a corner in his life, likes to think it's his way of being the mature twenty-three year old he's inevitably becoming.

But it's not. He knows it's fucking not. And as the party has gone on and he's yet to spot the one familiar face with stupid hair, he wonders why on earth he's even keeping himself sober for this shit.

"There you are." Louis raises his brows at him, hands still tugged on Liam's pants. "Havin' fun?"

Liam widens his mouth at the question, grinning in a way that makes his eyes disappear, then fails at feigning shock at the question before squatting down to Louis' level, wobbling before Louis takes a secure hand to Liam's shoulder.

"Am I having fun?" Liam laughs, letting his own hand place itself at the back of Louis' neck. "Mate, question is, are you?"

Louis snorts, "Why? This is your party!"

And apparently Louis is Comedian of the Year because Liam laughs so hard his head's thrown back and he almost topples over, had it not been for Louis' hand on him.

"Alright, alright." Louis says with a nod, nudging Liam so he slides off the table slowly, "Let's get you a drink, shall we?"

"A drink?" Liam's eyes light up, completely unaware of the one he already has in his hand. Louis makes Liam sling an arm around his shoulder so he stands up straighter, and then they start walking towards the kitchen. "But, aye, only if you have one too. Okay?"

"Okay." Louis says without deliberation.

"No." Liam says, not satisfied. He stops them both in amongst the crowd. Nicki Minaj blares through the speaker and Louis feels himself being danced against from all sides. Bloody hell, they might as well be in some dingy club back home.

Louis just raises his brows again at him as an answer, waiting for him to continue.

Liam just sloppily points a finger to Louis' chest, face completely serious despite the way his eyelids are almost falling shut. "You have to."

"I will." Louis replies, just as serious with a short nod. "Promise."

He watches as Liam's face grows slowly with a lazy smile, and Louis lets out a light chuckle before getting them moving again.

"You're just... You're just the best, d'you know that?" Liam says into his ear, slurred words making it hard for Louis not to roll his eyes.

"Shit, he's that drunk already?"

Louis looks to the voice and sees both Jesy and Leigh-Anne leaning against the counter of Liam's kitchen, eyeing Liam with a smile but also with slight concern.

"Oh. Hey girls," Louis greets, flashing them a smile of his own. He says to Liam in a whisper as he gestures to one of the stools,"Here, bud, take a seat. There you go." He turns to the girls again while he grabs one of the glasses from a cupboard. "Yeah, he's absolutely hammered."

He turns to the tap and sees Liam with his head in his hands, swaying slightly.

"Poor thing." Leigh-Anne tuts, looking on helplessly.

Louis fills up the glass with water and slides it to Liam, lightly tapping his hand, "I got your drink for you, Liam." He says as soft as he can above the music and chatter. "This one's real important, yeah? So you've gotta down it all." Liam looks up at that, blinks slowly, then looks down at the drink, "Think you can do that for me?"

Liam nods slowly, wrapping his hand around the glass. He pauses for a second though, then frowns before pointing lamely somewhere in Louis' direction. “You— You promised—"

"I did! I did." Louis says, hastily beginning to move before finding another glass and filling it up with water. Liam smiles in response before raising his glass to tap it to Louis'. "Cheers."

Liam knocks back the drink with practiced ease while Louis only opts for a few sips. He watches as Liam tips the whole thing into his mouth before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and commenting about how he didn't even feel the burn of that one. Louis tips his own water into the sink when he makes sure Liam isn't watching.

"Oh," Liam comments, clapping his hands as he bops to the song that just came on. "Oh, yes. This is a tune!"

Louis looks at him, sighs, then looks at one half of _Little Mix_ with a hopeful tint in his eye. "Ladies, how've we been?"

They both blink at him with a knowing look, the two of them freakishly in sync, "Yes, Louis," Jesy answers to a question he didn't ask, "We'll keep an eye on him for you, don't you worry."

Louis laughs, leaning forward to brush his hands lightly on each of their arms in gratitude, "Thanks, loves. I really gotta use the bathroom."

Jesy shoos him away with a quick gesture of her hand and a sound from her mouth.

And then Louis' moving through the crowd, noticing how many more people have rocked up and not knowing entirely just how many were actually on the list. The thing is, the police knew this party was happening and are willing to be here in point five of a second if something were to go wrong but they don't exactly have security out the front who are big and burly and intimidating that mark off the guest lists and have in-ear's to communicate with each other, so. Gatecrashers aren't such a far-fetched concept right now.

He walks up the stairs, dodging a couple that are cheating death with the way they're making out and almost slipping down any minute now.

Upstairs is just as packed, too. The music’s fainter but the noise is just as loud. He doesn't even want to check why the doors are all shut. He regrets wanting to use the inside toilet as soon as he sees the line, he should've just gone outside and peed in the bushes.

But he's fairly sure his hair's a mess and he's got make-up on his shirt and he just... He just has to check these things, okay?

He walks into the bathroom, shuts the door, pees, then washes his hands. The mirror above the sink has a lipstick stain of a kiss on the bottom right corner with a phone number written on it, also with lipstick. The mirror is also fogged up with steam, which means someone's either had a fucking shower in here or Louis should definitely be more weary with what he touches in this room.

He looks at his reflection and sees his shirt is spotless, which is a relief. He re-tucks it and adjusts it a bit, though, before moving his hands to his hair. He wets his fingertips and styles it up and out of his face from where it was starting to droop down the slightest bit.

Happy with the final result, he opens the door and lets the next person in before he slides out his phone and sees a message from Zayn that was sent twelve minutes ago. Where R yu/?

Upstairs. He replies.

He pockets his phone and glances out over the party beneath him. He's about two seconds from turning around and scoping out Zayn for himself when he hears a familiar laugh.

"It's nothin' like that!"

Louis immediately spots Niall, walking with a beer in hand and a girl underneath his unoccupied arm, laughing at something a boy Louis vaguely recognises said.

Louis watches him curiously. He seems happy, drunk. He throws his head back with another laugh, a slight tinge of pink decorating his cheeks. His eyes seem lost, though, smile not quite reaching them. The girl turns to him, then, and rests a hand on his open chest and stands on her tip-toes to whisper something into Niall's ear, something that makes Niall's eyes widen.

Is second-hand jealousy a thing? Louis thinks it might be with the way his stomach's burning with the indescribable need to pull them apart and give Niall a word or two. He quickly looks around to see if Zayn's anywhere near, and when he realises the coast is clear, Niall's walking passed Louis with his hand now on the girls' lower back, not registering Louis' presence at all.

"Niall!" Louis calls, unable to help it. "Niall!"

Niall stops in his tracks, a few feet ahead of Louis. Louis can't see his face, but he knows Niall must look like he's been caught dead in the act.

He says something quick to the girl, then turns slowly, already lowering his head in shame. "Hey, Lou. Haven't seen you for a bit."

"Yeah, haven't seen you either, mate."

Niall avoids Louis' eyes, brings a hand up to the back of his neck and rubs it. He notices Louis' bare hands and gestures towards it with his beer. "D'you wanna get a drink?"

They make their way down the stairs. He doesn't see Zayn at all as they venture to the kitchen and Louis figures he's been side-tracked with something else. When they get there, Liam and his minders have left, now replaced with Kehlani and a few others Louis doesn't know the names of.

Niall brings a beer to Louis and licks his lips, "Zayn hasn't said a word to me since the party started."

Louis takes a sip. "And that's a hall-pass to get with other people?"

Niall closes his eyes and swallows. He looks at Louis, then, eyes sad despite the glaze. “Lou—"

"Hey, hey." Louis says, hands raised in defence. "I'm not here to give you a lecture or some bullshit, alright? You and Zayn, you're not together. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Just be... Just be mindful, yeah?"

Niall's brows pull together as he mulls it over. They both take another drink, and then Niall's leaning in as he says, "I _want_ to be together, though. But he says it'll ruin," He cuts himself off, fiddles with the label of the bottle, "He says it'll ruin shit."

This time, Louis frowns. He's never heard Zayn say that. From his perspective, he thought Zayn wanted to do everything he can to make Niall love him back. Besides, Zayn and Louis had a deal tonight.

"Who said that?" Louis asks him, "Did he?"

Niall shakes his head, "Liam. Said they spoke about it all before we got here."

Louis sighs. “God— Niall... Liam's drunk out of his brain, mate. He could be saying words he doesn't even understand."

Niall lets out a chuckle, slightly swaying. He runs a hand through his hair and when he locks eyes with Louis there's something different in them. "Alright, well, no point worrying 'bout it 'til I see him, is there? I say we get Niall-and-Lou drunk and 'ave a good time."

Louis' always been in awe of Niall's ability to turn a page and focus on the now. It's something Louis needs to bloody learn, if he's being honest. In saying that, he looks around once more to see if he can find Harry at all.

Nothing.

"Hey, have you, uh," Louis scratches the back of his ear, watching as Niall's already pouring some kind of concoction for both of them, "Any chance you've seen Harry?"

"Harry?" Niall questions, "As in Harry Styles? Nah, mate," He chuckles slightly as he hands Louis his drink. "Probably wouldn't leave his side if I did."

Fuck. Why the fuck is he staying sober then? There's absolutely no reason for him to stay standing and coherent. Fuck it.

He knocks back the drink. Something like ginger ale and tequila hit the back of his throat but he blocks his nose and keeps his eyes closed as he downs it. He hears Niall whistle, impressed, and when the cup's drained to nothing Louis slams it down on the bench, looks Niall dead in the face.

"Another."

.

Louis' dancing in the backyard with Shawn Mendes, Charlie Puth and Noah Cyrus and he has no idea how he got here.

The music's not even as loud as it is inside but they're screaming along to the lyrics and Louis' so completely buzzed that his vision is slightly blurry and somehow he's acquired a drink that looks exactly like a vodka sunrise.

He pauses his movements to take a sip and that's when he spots Zayn. He's laughing along with Gigi and Bella Hadid, smiling with his teeth but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Louis knows exactly why.

Zayn spots him when Louis stumbles through the grass and breaks away from the group, opting to greet him and swing an arm around his waist. Louis holds himself up with an arm around Zayn's shoulders and they smile at each other.

"Harry's here." Zayn tells him, a knowing smirk on his lips.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut. That's definitely not an invitation for him to break away and scope the entire house. So he doesn't, he remains calm and continues smiling at Zayn.

"So's Niall." Louis replies, watching the smirk on Zayn's lips falter. "Are you breaking a deal tonight, Malik?"

Zayn just makes an unimpressed sound.

"Because from what I've heard," Louis continues, "You've been ignoring the boy all night."

Zayn stares at him. If Louis were anyone else, they'd be shaking in their boots. But it's Louis — and he doesn't wear boots — but he also knows Zayn better than he knows himself.

They're secluded from the party this way, facing the hedges next to the fence, the rest of the commotion behind them. Backs faced to the rest of the world.

"Fine." Zayn says with a sigh. "I'll walk up to Niall—“

"You gotta kiss him." Louis points out, fittingly pointing with his finger and lightly tapping the tip of Zayn's nose.

Zayn's nose scrunches at the touch. "Yeah, kiss him, whatever." He slides his arm from Louis' waist as he leans away from him a bit, resting his hand on his hip instead. "And are you gonna talk to Harry?"

Louis drops his arm from Zayn's shoulders at the mention and calmly uses one hand to hold his drink, the other taking the straw in between two fingers before he takes a long sip. He bats his eyes, then says, "Harry who?"

Zayn's head tilts to the sky as he groans, but he can't help the tiny laugh that escapes him either. "You're so drunk. C'mon."

Zayn re-secures his hold on Louis' waist as he turns them both around and heads towards the party. From here there's a tonne of faces Louis recognises but doesn't know, and a whole lot of bodies that press against him in more ways than one.

It really is a bloody frat party.

They make their way inside, through the lounge room, down the hallway and it's not until they reach the kitchen when they spot Niall in amongst it all with a cocktail shaker between his hands. Ah, so that's how Louis' drink happened.

"There he is!" Louis says excitedly. Zayn's hand drops from around him. "You gotta go."

He watches as Zayn fixes his hair blindly, swallows, then starts to walk forwards. He also watches on his tip-toes when Zayn makes his a move through the crowd and how Niall's eyes widen happily once he sees him.

"Remember!" Louis calls, the voice drained out from the crowd as he walks backwards, ready to go back outside, "You gotta kiss— oh!”

He backs into something hard, a wall. Except the wall has hands. Very large hands. Very large, warm hands. Hands that are now braced against his hip bones, steadying him.

"Whoa, careful."

The sound shoots right through him. It's so stilling that Louis feels like he should just stay here in this position, pressed up against him. But his brain quickly catches up and he definitely doesn't do that, instead steps forward and promptly spins around, facing him.

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

Louis looks away from the sheer top and tight pants and big build and eyes so glazed it looks like he's just been pulled out of something extremely relaxing, and looks down at his drink instead, playing around with the straw.

"Harry Styles," Louis replies, bored, "How very nice of you to finally show up."

A low chuckle. "I've been here for two hours, Lou."

Louis' eyes dart up at the nickname. There's a present smile on his face, looking so relaxed and content. Louis decides to let it slide this time round.

"Hm," Louis says, leaning his hip to one side as he sips from the straw, looking at him, "Enjoying yourself?"

Harry's smile grows as he keeps his eyes locked onto Louis'. He adjusts his position, tucking his large hands behind him. Louis has to stop thinking about his hands.

"Yeah," Harry replies, dimple popping. Shit. "Yeah, it's been fun."

"Mm," Louis looks elsewhere, then as he's taking another sip, realises that Harry's not doing anything except watch him. "Are you not drinking?"

Harry looks down at himself, almost like he had to be sure that he wasn't before he responded. "Not yet. I'm sorta here with my friend."

Louis just quirks his brow, wondering why that determines whether he drinks or not. 

"I drove here." Harry clarifies. Louis slowly nods. Isn't like he couldn't afford every taxi underneath the sun, or a limousine if he really so desired. “So... erm,” Harry scratches at his nose, looking elsewhere. Louis eyes him, silently questioning how somebody with so much charisma and success could be so suddenly awkward with social interactions. He coughs once into his hand, then his eyes slide over to Louis’ before he smirks slightly. A dimple protrudes and Louis can’t help but frown. “Did you like the after-party the other night?”

“You mean _your_ after-party?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry’s smirk grows, “Yeah, mine.” 

Thinking back, it was one of the best nights of Louis’ life. He’d never been amongst so many celebrities, he’d never ridden on a better high than the one that came with winning a Grammy, he hadn’t had that much fun in a long, long time. There aren’t many things Louis can think of that could ever top that night. Whether it was the win or the guests or a mixture of both was to be uncertain, but Louis supposes he has to give it to Harry — he was a good host. 

“I did.” He states, and the way Harry’s face lights up in front of him is almost comical. “I hadn’t realised it was your house, you know.” 

“You didn’t?” 

“No, I didn’t really know where I was half the night, if we’re being honest.” Louis admits, the majority of the memory a consistent blur. 

“Yeah, you were quite drunk.” Harry tells him with a grin that doesn’t seem to vanish. 

Louis raises his brows, half with the intention of asking him how bad he was exactly and half with the surprise that Harry even remembers. He takes a sip as he looks at Harry, then shifts his weight onto one hip and says, “And you weren’t?” 

Harry shrugs, and for some reason his smile seems to grow. “I don’t know,” He begins, looking away. Then he leans his shoulder against the wall again and crosses his feet at the ankle, looking like a standard American Apparel model, a pose he’s obviously perfected in the mirror. Harry’s eyes swoop over, sure to lock onto Louis’, and says, “But I definitely wasn’t drunk enough to forget you.”

Louis stares at him for a moment. He briefly wonders if it would be appropriate to sock him in the jaw. Is this a feeble attempt at banter? A play on words as Harry has forgotten him before? Or is it merely a blatant one-liner, coated in flirtation like his tweet? And as he’s wondering this, expression completely vague, he brings the straw to his lips one last time. 

He can see Harry’s eyes falter slightly since an immediate response wasn’t given yet his sultry smile still remains, body language effortlessly cool and Louis pities him. He does. He pities the star that stoops to tried and tested methods, rehearsed movements and lines. The disingenuousness seeping out of him like a bad smell. 

The slurping sound of Louis’ drink breaks their eye contact. The emptiness of his cup is shown through the plastic and Louis shakes it loosely between them, Harry watching it. Then Louis departs without a word, crossing the kitchen in order to find the nearest punch bowel available. 

From the kitchen where Louis fills up his cup, a Chris Brown classic plays from the speakers as Kendall Jenner is visibly attempting to drink down a beer bong in the backyard, graciously with the help of none other than Niall Horan. Louis watches through the window, and as Kendall takes a few sips before ducking away, Niall takes it from her and finishes it seamlessly, never wasting a drop. 

Louis chuckles, but still scans the yard, hoping to find Zayn and maybe Niall nearby. He finds Winnie Harlow and Emma Roberts laughing over something Louis probably couldn’t even fathom, finds Rita Ora, Travis Scott and YG sitting on chairs in perfect view, finds Halsey and one of Liam’s close friends huddled up together sharing a cigarette. He finds everything he couldn’t even imagine he’d find in Liam’s backyard, but he doesn’t find Zayn, or Niall, anymore. 

Nor Liam, for that matter.

When he turns around from the punch bowel, he allows a quick glance of the room. Harry’s moved from his spot on the wall, and is now talking to someone fairly taller. Louis inspects his face, but in an environment where faces are instantly recognisable, he fails to place where exactly he’s seen this guy before. 

And it’s as he’s inspecting this persons face, he realises that his vision is way too clear to be allowed. He brings his cup up to his nose and sniffs once, only able to detect the scent of fruit. He twists his mouth and immediately scopes the kitchen, locking onto the uncapped vodka bottle on the bench. Louis grins to himself, wasting no time in picking it up and spiking the entire punch bowl with more than enough. A few people around him cheer and laugh and Louis sticks his tongue out cheekily before taking one of the guys’ empty cups from his hand and filling it up with the new concoction. He gives it back to him and the guy promptly downs the whole thing, finishing it with a loud smack of his lips and a sigh, Louis and the crowd hooting loudly around him. 

Louis refills his own cup, something that’s sure to be ten times stronger than the piss weak juice he was sipping on before. He’s about to take a drink when he senses somebody slide up beside him. He turns with an expectant look, and finds Jesy there, lips rolled together with her face slightly pinched, and Louis knows exactly who should be next to her. She doesn't have to say a word before Louis' sighing and placing his cup back down. 

"Right, then." He says, "Take me to him."

Jesy places her hand on the small of his back before leading him upstairs and trying to explain how her and Leigh-Anne had ended up having to drag him away from the kitchen shortly after Louis had left him. 

"Went too hard, too early?" Louis gathers, climbing the steps.

"'Fraid so." Jesy replies, "Poor bugger, he was so amped before."

"And now?" Louis asks, almost anxious to.

She makes a long humming noise and they reach the landing of the top floor. "Well, you'll see."

They reach Liam's room, bumping passed people to open the door. As soon as Louis enters, he spots Liam in bed, sitting up with pillows behind his back and eyes droopy. He's mumbling something incoherent and Leigh-Anne spots them enter as she sits down next to him. 

"Liam, look." She says, and Liam stops his mumbling to look in the direction of Louis. The way his whole face changes into something that resembles the sun shining, and he gasps in amazement. 

"It's Lou!" He says, sitting up further.

Jesy turns to Louis, "He's been asking for you for the past half hour."

"Liam," Louis tuts. He walks over, watching as his friend smiles dopily at him. He sits down and places a hand to Liam's hair. "What's happened here?"

"Think I might've drunk too much." He says, or slurs, rather. Then he hiccups, and Louis decides then and there that this is unacceptable. "D'you wanna sleep here with me?"

"I'm sorry," Louis blinks, he shifts so he's facing Liam, hand dropping from his hair. "Did you, Liam Party Payne, just say _sleep_? At his _own_ party?"

Liam snorts with a chuckle, "Party Payne."

"That is not happening."

He hears Leigh-Anne and Jesy begin to leave, and Louis makes sure to turn and thank them honestly. He really has to make it up to them one day. Maybe promote the shit out of their new music, or buy them a new house. Somewhere in the middle.

"Why no sleep?" Liam questions, blinking lagged, bringing Louis' attention back. 

He shakes his head, "No friend of mine is clocking out early."

"Don't think I can have more al—" He hiccups again, "Alcohol."

"Oh, no." Louis agrees before fishing around in one of his own jean pockets. "No alcohol, bud. You're finished with that." He finds what he needs and he brings it out. The baggy with white powder is only small, but he didn't think he'd even be using it tonight. "This stuff will straighten you right up, yeah? Make you smart and shit."

"I wanna be smart." 

Louis chuckles, "You are smart."

He pours out some of the powder on his own phone, then places it on the bedside table. He fetches out his wallet, then chops the cocaine with his card before rolling up a bank note. 

"You've never had this before, have ya?" Louis asks.

Liam shakes his head. 

"Well, take this." He hands the note and Liam takes it. Louis passes over his phone. "Hold it to your nose and then—"

"I know how it works," Liam says with a half-hearted roll of his eyes, "I _am_ friends with you, remember?"

Louis smiles, "Alright, then, lad. Go on."

Liam bends down to the phone and promptly sniffs up most of what Louis had set up for him. Liam's eyes widen before blinking wildly and sniffing a few times. "Whoa."

"Alright?"

"Better than alright," Liam says with a grin. He looks down, then back up at Louis in question, "Got any more?"

Louis barks out a laugh. He chops and lines another one, watches as Liam snorts it up his nose. "Happy birthday, big boy."

Liam shakes his head, pupils significantly larger. "Let's get out of this fucking bed."

They move out of the room, Liam with his arm slung over Louis' shoulders. The party seems to be dwindling down somewhat, and Louis has no real sense of time anymore. He supposes celebrities take to more sophisticated, expensive venues decorated in water fountains with trays of miniature quiches rather than kegs of beer and music played on speakers via an iPhone. Louis doesn't care, really. He'd rather watch his best mate how he is right now, walking through the crowd in his own house as they head towards the kitchen, smile stretched on his face as he shouts to passerby's, awake and happy and enjoying his birthday rather than submitting to the confines of famous norms. 

He loses Liam amongst the crowd, sidetracked by something that caught his eye. Louis uses the opportunity to finally make his drink once again. But almost as though the universe is forbidding Louis' alcoholism, as he brings the cup to his mouth, he jumps from sudden screaming, the liquid spilling out onto his hand. He immediately frowns in annoyance, then rolls his eyes back into his head when he quickly finds the source of it.

“Harry Styles!” 

Louis looks over and finds three girls jumping up and down, looking wild. Harry turns, movements paused, and locks onto the fans that look younger than himself. He gives them a genuine smile, “That’s me.”

Cleaning up the spilled drink and refilling his cup, Louis listens on to how the fans rave about how much they love Harry. He also listens to how Harry thanks them, voice slow and sincere. When he turns back around to view him, they're taking a photo all together from one of the girl's phones. Harry's friend from before is looking on with an amused expression, like he's used to it. Louis imagines himself being in Harry's position, a position where even in a house party literally filled with high-class celebrities, he's the only one getting screamed at and fawned over. 

After a few more compliments and adorations, the girls thank him again and soon he’s left alone as they leave in a flurry of squeals and almost-tears. Harry watches them leave, and then his attention turns back to the kitchen, his eyes finding Louis'.

Louis looks away immediately. He can only imagine what kind of bitter expression was present on his face. But in his peripheral he can see Harry walking over, and Louis doesn't have it in himself to move. 

“That was nice.” He finds himself blurting out when Harry's close enough.

He's leaning over the sink and filling up a cup of water as he looks back at Louis, his sheer shirt stretched across his shoulders. “What was?” 

“That little interaction,” Louis replies. Harry turns off the tap, then turns around to lean against the counter. Louis gestures briefly with his cup towards the area where the girls left. “With your fans.” 

Harry's face softens, and there's almost a certain glistening in his eyes that appears out of fucking nowhere. And Louis can’t work him out. He cannot, for the life of him, figure Harry Styles out. 

"Yeah," Harry breathes, shaking his head. “It's crazy. I definitely don't deserve it.” 

Louis' frown deepens for a different reason altogether. There's a genuine sort of longing in Harry's words. A certain sadness that almost, _almost_ makes Louis feel for him. It seems so bizarre to hear that come out of a mouth that's usually so sure of himself. Harry, who exudes confidence in every movement he makes. Harry, who has entire crowds by his fingertips whenever he performs. Harry, who's not afraid to send messages with kisses on the end. Louis' seen enough of his videos, enough to know who Harry Styles is. Is he saying he doesn't deserve the screaming fans telling him that they love him? Or that he doesn't deserve the fame at all? 

Louis swallows these thoughts in the form of alcohol and his face cringes from how strong it all is. He can't do this conversation, so he looks to Harry again and asks, “Have you seen Zayn? Niall? I can’t tell you how much time has passed but I haven’t seen either for a minute, and Niall did say if he knew you were here he would not have left your side, unless…” 

Louis thinks back to upstairs, how there were a few doors shut in some of the rooms. Surely they’re not getting it on like teenagers this quickly. Ugh. Is this what Louis has to worry about now?

“Er,” Harry replies lamely, pulling Louis out of his thoughts. He’s looking at him with amusement, “I haven’t seen Niall, no. But…” He continues to scan the crowd and Louis internally fumes at him for not needing to go onto his toes, “The last I saw Zayn was out the front on the steps.” 

Louis’ eyes narrow at him, “When was that?” 

“When you went upstairs.” 

“Hm,” Louis tilts his head to the side. “Following me, are you?”

Harry grins. He grins and it seems utterly mischievous and boyish and Louis’ too _sober_ for this. “On Twitter I do.”

Ah. There it is. 

Louis slowly walks forwards, Harry’s eyes locked on him. “Tell me, Styles. Was it before or after the Grammy’s when you google’d our band name just to discover the fourth member?”

“Hey,” Harry says lowly, grin turning into a dirty smirk, his hand moving to hold one of Louis’ wrists lightly, “I remember you now, don’t I?”

With an inhale, Louis takes a second to stare at Harry in disbelief. Here is a personified product of the spotlight that is so used to everyone falling for his charm. Here is a packaged knob who has never been reprimanded. Here is the idol that his friends worship.

Louis leaves quickly, heading straight for the front door with a sigh. Maybe it’s with disgust, maybe it’s with disappointment. On his way, he tries to locate any of his other disappearing band members, but all he finds is either unknown faces or extreme celebrities that should really be out of place but aren’t. 

He’s settled with the fact that celebrities are not always what they seem to be. Harry Styles, flower child and all-round nice guy was destined to be a set-up. He’s just glad he didn’t believe it for a second. 

It’s not until Louis looks outside where the cars are parked when he spots Zayn leaning against Niall’s hood, alone and with a cigarette lit. Louis sighs inwardly before jogging down the steps and crossing the front yard. 

He perches beside Zayn, the commotion around them filling the noise before they do. They sit there for a moment, observing others and wordlessly sharing a cigarette. When it’s done, Zayn stubs it out with his shoe, then looks towards the moon. 

“He told me he wanted to be with someone else tonight.” 

Louis clenches his jaw at the sudden words. He shuts his eyes. 

“I don’t think he knows I care, though.” Zayn continues, shrugs half-heartedly, “So, kind of makes it alright.” 

Louis frowns deeply and looks at him, “_How_ does that—“

He’s cut off not by sound but by how Zayn looks. The porch lights shine onto the dejectedness of Zayn’s eyes, the way his face is slightly pinched like he’s trying to hold himself together. Louis realises, then, that Zayn knows it’s complete bullshit. 

“Oh, babe.” Louis tuts, shifting closer to wrap an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, “He’s a blind fool, that boy.”

“Or smart, y’know.” 

“Smart?” Louis questions, “How on Earth is anyone who doesn’t choose you smart?” 

Zayn lets out a weak chuckle. “S’probably better for the band this way. If you think about it.” 

Louis bites his tongue. He doesn’t have to think about it. He knows Zayn’s wrong in every way and there’s no way known that they’ll survive as a band with this kind of unresolved, thick tension surrounding them every time they’re together. 

But Louis just nods, and pulls Zayn closer, letting him rest his head onto his shoulder. He slides his fingers through the back of Zayn’s hair, “Yeah. You’re probably right.” 

They remain silent for a while, content with watching how the party plays on whilst they’re not involved. There’s a pack of people who are indistinguishable in the darkness attempting to play happy sack with a rock that’s way too heavy to kick, let alone bounce yet they keep attempting it despite the cries of pain every time it hits one of them. It’s quite amusing. 

“Me and Harry had a chat, before.” Zayn says, breaking their silence.

Louis swallows, then clears his throat slightly. “Yeah, I— I know.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah. That’s how I knew where to find you.”

“Harry told you I was out here?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

Zayn cuddles further into his side, “He’s a nice guy, Lou.” 

“Is that a fact?” 

He laughs lowly, “Yes.” 

Louis hums. “Well, then. If he passes _your_ test—“

Zayn pulls away from his hold but only to look at him clearly, “I don’t have a _test_—“

“Ohh, sure you don’t. Like you’re not The World’s Hardest Person to Impress. Like you don’t give just anyone the time of day. Like you—“

Louis sees it coming but he allows it anyway. Zayn pulls Louis into a headlock, letting his sleeve close over Louis’ mouth. “What was that, babes? Gonna finish that sentence?” 

Louis attempts it, but his words are completely muffled and deformed comically by the fabric. Zayn breaks, giggling as his hold on Louis loosens. Louis straightens back up, and makes a show of pathetically spitting out pieces of non-existent fluff from his tongue. 

Zayn continues to laugh, placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder and shoving lightly. Louis comes up to him, then, and presses a kiss to Zayn’s hair. He takes his hand, then pulls him away from Niall’s car. 

“C’mon,” He says, “Let’s go find the birthday boy.”

.

They find Niall and Harry instead. 

Louis can’t contain his groan when he sees them together. They’re leaning against one of the trees in the darkness, the light of the house enough to accentuate their faces. Zayn and Louis stop as they spot them at the same time, and he thinks he hears Zayn’s sigh harmonising with his own sound of annoyance. 

Then Louis looks between the two boys and he bites the inside of his cheek. Niall looks like he’s seconds from tears, just about. He’s talking, rattling off about something he’s obviously passionate about, and his shoulders are slumped and sad and— _god_. When did his band mates become such emotional wrecks? 

“S’pose fame does change people.”

“What?” Zayn mumbles, eyes still inspecting Niall from across the yard. 

Louis frowns at himself. Talking without his own permission is definitely a given that he’s a little more drunk than he’d originally thought. “Nothing.” 

“Maybe we should go.” 

Louis looks at Zayn. There’s a crease between his brows and his mouth’s in a tight line. It’s like he’s wanting to either be right beside Niall to stop him from being sad or leave forever and never return in case the sadness is his own cause. Of course it’s Zayn-related; which is what Louis thinks but doesn’t say. 

“Maybe.” Louis replies. Neither of them move. 

A moment passes. “I wonder if Harry knows everything.” 

The man in question is currently looking at Niall intently as he listens, his attention utterly focused on him, nodding along with sympathy and using a hand to rest on Niall’s shoulder for comfort. A certain feeling twists in Louis’ gut from how easily Niall must’ve felt with him to let him see his emotional side so early. Louis’ sure it took about four months for Niall to cry in front of him. 

Louis goes to take a sip of beer when he realises he doesn’t have any drink at all. He itches for one, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away. Niall stops talking, and he looks at Harry for the first time since. Then Harry begins to talk and it’s all hand movements and concentration and Louis wishes nothing more than to have super-sonic hearing at this moment. 

Is Harry only an idiot around him?

“Maybe,” He decides to respond to Zayn, “Or maybe they’re both just really, really drunk and are having an emotional discussion about dolphins.” He glances at Zayn briefly, “You know how deeply Niall feels for dolphins.”

“Should we go over?” Zayn asks timidly, locking eyes with Louis. He looks scared. 

“Er—“

“Kinda haven’t completed my half of the deal, yet.” 

And Louis tuts, “Forget about the _stupid_ deal. Your relationship’s far more than that.”

Zayn nods. He holds his gaze with his shoes and then he’s looking back up, right eye closing slightly as he cringes, “Y’know, I really am sorry for bringin’ Harry up in that interview.”

“S’okay.” He says simply with a shrug, “I’m sorry for making a shitty joke before that.” 

“I mean,” Zayn’s lips quirk up into a smile, “Is it really a joke if it’s true?” 

Louis laughs loudly, then he shrugs again with his palms facing the sky, brows rising, “Yeah, well...”

“Lads!” 

He sees the flash in Zayn’s eyes before he even registers the voice. Then he does, and he turns towards where Harry and Niall have now noticed them, and Niall’s using his hand to gesture them over. He looks back to Zayn and Zayn grabs him subtly at the skin above his elbow. 

“Think I need a vodka shot.”

“Zayn, babe,” Louis coaxes, “This is Niall, remember?” 

They start to walk, Zayn somewhat surprisingly leading the way. “What if he brings up that girl he was with?” 

“Then he’ll end up with an eye blacker than Harry’s fingernails.” 

Zayn just tuts and shakes his head. When they’re about five steps away, Harry and Niall give them both a pleasant smile. And Louis feels weird. 

“Hello,” Harry greets them both, slow and agonising, pointedly looking at both Zayn _and_ Louis. 

Zayn gives him a smile. 

“Hi.” Louis says. He turns to Niall. “Haven’t seen you for a bit, there.” 

His words may have come out a little more harsh than intended. But the last time he did see Niall, he was self-depreciative over Zayn, so sad that he’d rather bang a stranger, apparently.

Louis watches with amusement as Niall’s neck turns slightly red. “Uh, yeah. Was— was with Harry.” 

“Mm. And before that?” 

“There’s not a lot of people here, now, is there?” Zayn asks, turning his head and looking at the yard. 

Louis just pulls a face at Niall. And Niall would usually laugh but now he just cowers away. Emotional wrecks, the lot of them. He could bet any money that Liam’s out there right now sobbing to some poor, unsuspecting celebrity about how much he loves his job. 

“Yeah, it’s died down quite a bit.” Harry replies, the only one seeming to take Zayn’s subject change bait. “Are you all staying here the night?” 

“Why?” Louis asks, zeroing in on him, “Are you planning on crashing?” 

“No,” Harry answers instantly, then leans further back onto the tree, cocking his chin towards him, “Unless you want me to.” 

Louis tries not to gag. He bites back his tongue, too. The last thing he wants is for the lover’s quarrel to be amplified by their friend abusing their dream-man. 

“We are, yeah.” Niall says, “At least, that’s been the plan.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, and Louis catches the way Niall sort of lights up when Zayn directly acknowledges him. If they weren’t Louis’ family he’d probably have to gag at this, too. “We’re all staying. And, erm,” Zayn looks to Harry, “you’re more than welcome to, too. I think there’s... there should be room, like.” 

Louis looks to Harry to gage his response but when he does, Harry’s already looking at him with a twisted smile and eyes that sort of shine in the darkness like a fucking weirdo and it’s not until Louis holds his gaze when Harry registers Zayn’s words and his face drops into something less creepy. 

“Oh, uh,” He coughs into his fist, “No, I really should be getting home. Thank you, though.” 

Zayn just shrugs in response. And then it’s silent. 

The music changes to something more mellow, but it seems to be a crowd-pleaser judging by the weird, satisfied moans of joy from the drunken bodies left inside. He can feel Harry’s eyes still on him and Louis looks anywhere but him, torn between wanting to physically slap Harry’s attention elsewhere, and yelling at him to fuck off.

Louis needs to fucking go home.

He turns to Zayn, “Hey—“

But that’s the moment Niall decides to say, “Zayn, can—?”

Louis and Niall lock eyes. “Please, Nialler, you first.” 

“Are... are you sure?” 

“For God’s sake,” Louis sighs, “Zayn, Niall wants to take you away to have a chat.”

“You do?” Zayn asks Niall. 

“Yeah.” Niall nods, looking like he’s holding in a breath. He scrunches up his face in anticipation. “Can we?” 

“Okay.” Zayn tells him, then turns to Louis and lowers his voice to a whisper when Niall turns to Harry and gives him a hug. Everything is weird and nothing makes sense anymore. “Bro, you’re not gonna leave here are you?” 

Louis blinks at him. Shit. “Er... actually I was just about to—“

“Stay.” Zayn pleads, hand back on the spot of Louis’ arm, “Least until I know what’s happening. Like, what if he’s letting me down gently again or— shit, I don’t know. I just want you here, yeah?” 

Louis thinks he hears himself internally screaming. There’s a kid-version of himself inside his brain throwing a tantrum, probably. But still he sighs, because he’s never been able to say no to Zayn. 

“Alright, alright.” He smiles slightly at how Zayn visibly relaxes, “But text me as soon as you know what’s happening, okay?” 

Zayn nods, then Niall’s grabbing his attention and pointing somewhere, silently asking whether he’s ready to go. Before they do, though, Zayn whispers a short thanks to Louis, and Louis brushes him off good-naturedly, giving him a slap of encouragement on his back in Niall’s direction. He watches them leave together, awkwardly walking side by side and undoubtedly making the worst small talk in the world just to break whatever ice has frozen between them. Puppy love is adorable. 

“They’d definitely be a cute couple.” 

Louis jumps away from the deep, monotoned voice behind him. So caught up in the blossoming of his friends’ new relationship he’d actually forgotten that Harry was still there, seemingly having gotten way to close for comfort. 

“Jesus, Styles.” Louis frowns as Harry gives him a look cross between shock and amusement. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” 

Harry frowns. Wow. A negative reaction. “Excuse me?” 

Louis brings fingers to his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose, breathing in before letting go. “Never mind.”

There’s a few seconds of silence as Harry looks at him, dumbfounded. “Do we have a problem, Louis Tomlinson?”

Louis laughs. It’s short and slightly high-pitched but he’s so surprised he can’t contain it. He deliberates with himself. On one hand, he can deny everything and walk away like he has done with every conversation they’ve ever had with each other and wait for Zayn’s text so he can either leave with him or without him. On the other hand, Louis’ quite drunk and Harry Styles is the most irritating person Louis’ ever met, and he’s given him an opportunity to say anything he pleases. 

“We do, Harry Styles.” Louis settles on. He can hear Sasha’s screams in his ear already. Harry doesn’t react, but his brows crawl higher on his forehead, silently insisting that Louis continues. “Because for some reason you find yourself so charming that you think you can touch me when I don’t even know you. You’re as fake as they come yet my bandmates, for some God-known reason, absolutely adore you—“

“Are you angry because I didn’t recognise who you were?” 

Louis clenches his jaw and looks away. “I don’t give a shit about that.”

“When I responded to that article about you mentioning me in an interview, that was sarcasm. You know, the same kind of sarcasm you’ve given me every time I’ve tried to be nice to you.”

“_Tried to be_—“ Louis bites his bottom lip, stopping himself. He shakes his head. “You’re a real arse, and it feels like I’m the only one who sees through your fake fucking façade.”

Then Harry smiles, “Welcome to stardom, Louis Tomlinson. Everything’s a façade.”

Before Louis can respond, Harry lingers for a moment or two before his eyes drop to his shoes and he nods his goodbye once. He walks away and leaves Louis there, staring at the sky. 

He groans. Why does he feel like he lost?

His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

Zayn: 😊

Zayn: Looks like we’re staying ! Talk soon xxx 

Louis sends a thumbs up in response and shuts his eyes. The party still goes on around him and he doesn’t know whether to crawl into a ball on the ground or find Liam. 

He ends up doing neither, and instead pulls up the Uber app to book a ride home. Fuck this party. And fuck Harry Styles. 

.

This time when he arrives home he’s not pent up on cocaine nor is he sweaty and accompanied. He’s actually quite sobered up and already feeling the beginnings of a hangover. So, in comparison, the night’s gone entirely _great_. 

He lets out a large sigh and takes off his shoes and jeans before taking a beer from his fridge and plopping on the couch. He can’t even find it in himself to reach for the remote and turn on the TV, so he just sits there. Looking at the black screen that might as well act as a black hole into the abyss that is his mind. 

He should be grateful, really. He’s at the prime of their career. Or what he believes to be their prime. He can’t imagine One Direction ever topping this year. He can see Zayn shooting up the charts and collecting cheques and selling records. He can see Niall fitting in with celebrity personalities insanely easy, can see him on popular talkshows and wooing the entire world with his charm. He can see Liam performing to crowds of thousands, selling out arena tours and even starring in a critically acclaimed film — he’s always loved performing arts. 

He can see himself doing what he’s doing now. Sobering up and hating the world. It scares him shitless, but if any of his bandmates decided to branch out on their own, Louis would encourage them wholeheartedly. 

Truth is, right now, he should be doing what his nineteen year old self dreamt of doing while he was wishing for success as a singer, as a guitarist, as a performer. He should be, but he can’t shake the constant doubt in the back of his head telling him that he doesn’t deserve it.

It’s not his own voice. That would be way too melancholy and boring, Louis justifies. It belongs to someone he used to know, someone who’s probably worth the dirt underneath his fingernails, yet his words weigh down on him every day. 

When he’s writing, he’s told his lyrics mean nothing and he’s letting the entire team down. When he’s on stage, he’s told that he shouldn’t stand too close to the light because the crowd will notice him and that’ll ruin the entire performance. When he’s signing autographs, he’s told that the admiration won’t last long and that he should learn to savour it before the fans realise he isn’t worth admiring. 

It’s from a voice that belonged to someone people _did_ admire. He was loved and adored, a certain worship that now makes Louis sickened. Because Louis worshipped him and he believed that he was loved back. 

“Stupid.” Louis mutters. He tips the beer back into his mouth, draining the bottle and hoping it can aide with his sleep. 

It’s not until he’s deliberating on finally getting up and going to bed when he hears his phone chime in his pocket. He pulls it out and reads that it’s an email from their manager. Louis’ convinced the guy’s a vampire who doesn’t sleep. Who can even think about anything professionally at two-thirty in the morning? 

Thinking it’s just another overview for the tour, Louis slides open the notification. It’s a good thing that he doesn’t have any more beer, because he’s entirely sure it would’ve been spit out all over his furniture. 

It’s a “friendly reminder” that One Direction have been booked in for a breakfast show with Radio 1 tomorrow. A breakfast show. In the morning. Tomorrow. Or, rather, today. In two and a half hours, to be exact. 

Louis shuts his eyes and lets his head fall behind him onto his couch cushions. _Well_, he thinks bitterly, _better get some sleep_. 

.

Not enough coffee in the world could help the lot of them from looking like brain-dead zombies whose weaknesses are loud noises and sunshine. They’re like a pack of useless corpses who are devoid of any emotion or coherent sentences. If Louis wasn’t so exhausted he’d find the sight of them absolutely hilarious. 

George, on the other hand, couldn’t be more angry. “Are you all out of your _minds_? This is a well respected and popular show, yet you’ve turned up completely unprofessional and disgusting!” 

At that, Liam gags, then brings a sudden hand to his mouth, eyes wide. He spins and darts out of the room quickly, no doubt throwing up for the fourth time this morning. 

“In our defence,” Louis chimes in, “We had no idea this was happening.” 

George scoffs, “We had a meeting about it last week, Louis. I made you all write a reminder to put it in your diaries!” 

“Yeah...” Louis twists his mouth, “None of us have diaries?” 

George slouches his shoulders, his eyes shutting as he breathes deeply. Zayn and Niall are slouched together, Zayn somewhat upright as he leans against a table and Niall’s head on his shoulder. He could be fast asleep yet nobody can tell due to the sunglasses on his face. The lights in this studio are uncharacteristically bright for a breakfast show. 

“Look, this station is usually based in London, but they’ve had a pop-up in L.A and you guys are one of the most anticipated guests that they have lined up for the time they’re here. Just... please,” George says, lethargy in his tone, “Be decent, okay?” 

“Ah, there they are!” 

A sharp, cheerful and British tone pierces their ears as he enters the small room and Louis blocks the sound immediately. He watches as Zayn cringes and Niall shields away from the noise, frown evident. 

“Fuck, mate,” He utters, “Mind keeping it down?” 

There’s a click of a tongue, and then a very annoying sound of sudden realisation. “You boys had a big night, huh?” 

Louis looks up at him, then, and instantly recognises him as the tall guy that Harry had been talking to last night. He pulls his brows together as he inspects him, and comes to the realisation that he definitely doesn’t look hungover enough. Did he arrive with Harry and then leave early? 

“No,” Louis finds himself saying, then smiles sweetly at George, “Whatever do you mean?” 

The radio host leans against the doorway, all long limbs and big smile as he shows his teeth. “And I suppose our friend Liam here’s just throwing up in our bathroom from... what, nerves?” 

“Food poisoning.” Louis corrects without hesitation, “Crab fish.” 

“Ah,” Nick replies, and Louis doesn’t miss the way his eyes shamelessly flicker up and down Louis’ body. “Ghastly things.”

“Mr Grimshaw,” George acknowledges, and Nick tears his eyes away to look at him. “How long until we start?” 

“Let’s talk scheduling away from sensitive ears, shall we?” Nick replies, and Louis can feel eyes on him again but he opts for drinking his coffee instead of returning his gaze. 

There’s no way Nick could’ve been checking him out whilst Louis looks as wrecked as he does. He ended up not sleeping at all until he was stirred by his alarm. He’d managed to drag himself into the shower, where he then actually managed to fall asleep, and was then awoken to Fernando banging on the bathroom door. Thankfully his team were able to come together to salvage the bags underneath his eyes and the mop of hair on his head. 

The final result on his body is a red, loose sweater that's cropped at the waist, the sleeves falling passed his hands. It was no surprise when he was made to squeeze into tighter pants, but instead of jeans they’re something like black, high-waisted biker shorts that stop just above the knee. He can feel his junk being pressed against the fabric and he’s so uncomfortable he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sit still for the entirety of the interview. 

“He was checking you out.” Zayn tells him. 

And Louis scoffs. “No. I look like a homeless Olympian.” 

“You look great, Lou.” 

And Louis smiles. “Thanks, love. You too.” 

They share a look, and Louis doesn’t feel so bitter inside. Zayn appears the least hungover out of all of them, his eyes awake and filled with a certain sparkle, skin aglow and his whole self just radiating with love. 

Damn, Louis really wants to find whatever it is Zayn’s found if not only to look like a blissed out, mythical God. Niall then looks up and kisses Zayn underneath his jaw as his hand slips further up Zayn’s thigh. 

And, ah. Louis gathers. This is what they call a post-sex haze. 

With that, he heads towards the bathroom. “Liam!” 

.

Nick remains cheery as he sits across from them, playing songs and chiming in every so often. There’s a camera in the corner that faces the band and Louis can only imagine what kind of shot it’s getting — Niall and Zayn, attached together with no intention of splitting (Louis’ amazed that not one person has asked any of them about their new found relationship status; are they all usually this tactile with each other that it doesn’t seem odd?), Louis next to them with what can only be a tired expression and slouched demeanour, and Liam, who’s actually attempted to put on a happy face despite emptying his entire stomach and maybe still a little drunk. He keeps turning to whisper nonsense into Louis’ ear, then stares at him like he’s waiting for an answer. Louis’ just glad he took the liberty to take some breath mints. Or they could’ve been forced into his mouth. Either way. 

“Good morning, Los Angeles!” Nick greets after they’ve been counted down. He does a short introduction, and with the excitement in his voice, Louis’ certain he’d switch him right off his radio if he heard it this early in the morning. Soon, Nick looks up at him, “Today we’re joined by a highly anticipated boy band who are fresh off the scene,” He adds in a lower voice, “But not so fresh today,” Then grins widely again, “It’s One Direction!” 

Clapping sound effects are made and Louis pulls his chair somewhat closer to the microphone so he doesn’t have to lean over. He smiles for the camera’s sake. 

“Hi, hi.” He greets. 

“Thanks for ‘aving us, Grimmy.” Liam adds, his voice sounding miraculously normal and alive. It’s a shame his body language is executing the absolute opposite. 

He must not be aware they’re being filmed. Louis doesn’t tell him. 

“Thanks for coming, boys.” Nick replies, then inspects all of them with a hint of humour, “And you, Liam, wishing you a very happy birthday for yesterday.” 

Liam manages a smile, “Thank you, thank you.” 

“And how old are you turning? Nineteen, is it?” 

“I wish!” Liam replies, a small chuckle in his voice. Louis lets himself do some inspecting of his own. Nick can’t be older than forty, surely. “No, twenty-three this year.” 

“Ah, close enough. So very young, yet so very successful.” Nick says, then waves his hand, “Something I obviously can’t relate to. This week alone I’ve ordered take-away three nights in a row. I’m a mess.” This elicits a slight laugh from Niall, which is a feat in itself, and in turn makes Zayn crack a smile. Then Nick looks down at a sheet of paper, “So, enough about _me_, how—?”

“How old are you, Nick?” Louis questions, actually leaning forward in his chair this time. He watches the way Nick’s eyes flicker with surprise, and then they land on Louis’ with something else. 

“Thirty-five, darling, don’t remind me.” 

There’s another laugh from the studio and Louis just presses his tongue onto one of his top teeth as he returns to his leant back position in his chair. 

The conversation somewhat flows after that. Niall and Zayn wake up more and more as jokes spill out of Nick’s mouth, and Liam takes over the microphone to talk details about their upcoming tour. Louis, on the other hand, surprisingly clicks with Nick — the witty banter going back and forth, easy for both of them. 

“You know, your speech at the Grammy’s was an absolute classic. Did you really think you had no chance of winning?” 

“No, Grimmy, we downed a dozen beers consecutively right before our category was announced _just_ so we could look like drunken idiots accepting our award.” 

“Well, it’s really the only way to do it, innit? Mic drop and all?” 

The show ends, and they’re told the segment will air in an hour or so in L.A after it’s briefly edited, and a day after in London. It’s surprising to Louis that Harry hadn’t been mentioned at all throughout it, especially since after their online interaction and especially since Nick is obviously a friend of his. Louis silently counts his blessings, though, as he’s not sure how he’d react if his name was brought up. 

“Lou,” Liam’s hand plops to his shoulder as they wait for the okay to leave. Louis shuffles closer to him and lets his own hand slap down onto Liam’s knee. 

“Yes, Liam?” 

“Since when was this happening?” Liam asks, wagging a finger between Zayn and Niall, who are now in their own little bubble, whispering to each other. 

“When you were probably pulling off your shirt and waving it around like _Magic Mike_.” Louis replies, if not only to watch the way Liam’s eyes widen. Louis chuckles to himself, then switches his attention back to the newlywed couple as George announces their departure. “But, Payno, it looks like we’ve gotta stick together now, alright? You’re my new best friend.”

Liam nods, then a frown slowly starts to appear as he looks at him. “New?” 

Louis barks out a laugh. It never gets old, apparently. 

He’s just about to start walking out of the room and to tell Liam he’s joking, when he hears Nick call his name, telling him to hang back a second. And Louis does, letting Liam know that he’ll meet them back at the car. 

Nick’s looking at him expectantly when Louis meets his eye. Louis goes to fix his fringe, then quickly realises that his hair had been styled into an artful quiff this morning. He opts for pulling his sleeves further down his hands as he walks slowly towards Nick. 

“You called?” He asks, and his voice comes out surprisingly shy. 

“I did.” Nick says with a growing grin. “Like the show?” 

“Liked the show, yeah.” Louis says honestly. “The time slot, on the other hand...”

Nick chuckles, “Yeah, it’s a hard one to get used to, let me tell you. I wake up at four in the morning every day without fail. It’s a bloody curse.” 

Louis’ not sure how to reply so he just gives him a genuine smile and looks to the floor. His sleep-deprived mind and hungover state doesn’t allow for fast thinking, suddenly. It’s almost as though the past half hour has used up every drop of brain power. 

“Speaking of four in the morning, actually,” Nick starts again, “I think I remember seeing you at Liam’s party last night.” 

Louis raises a brow at him. “Well, I definitely would’ve been there. Seeing that it’s Liam and all.” 

“Right. Yes, right.” Nick waves a hand in the air. “But I — er, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you because I had to run off early, considering the job.” 

“You know, it would’ve been handy if you let it slip that we were supposed to be here bright and early.” Louis jokes. 

Nick laughs, but then his expression turns perplexed, “Wait, you guys really didn’t know? Like, any of you?” 

Louis shakes his head as he gives a shrug and Nick continues to laugh. “What can I say, man? We’re not used to this.” 

“Yeah, well,” Nick breathes out, “You will be soon. You’re gonna be massive.” 

“Cheers, Oracle.” 

Nick snorts, “You’re welcome, Kim K.” 

Louis’ eyes widen. “_Kim K_?!” 

“You look like you’re wearing season five Yeezy bikie shorts!” 

“These are _not_...” Louis trails off, twisting his back to try and find the tag, listening to Nick snickering silently. “Okay, I can’t reach the tag, I have no idea.” He turns back around, “They probably are—“

“You have no idea.”

“I have no idea.”

Nick laughs loudly and Louis follows, softer and into his hand, shaking his head. Being thrown into the spotlight is more of a whirlwind than he’d initially thought it’d ever be. He still hasn’t processed the fact that they’re being played on the radio, and that firstly happened six months ago. 

“Well, look. If you’re ever in need of, say... _Kimye_ advice—“

Louis scoffs quietly, “Please.” 

“—or anything, really. Be sure to give me a call, okay?” 

He hands Louis a business card and he inspects it, jutting his bottom lip out and humming once. “A card? How professional.” 

“It’s utter bullshit, to be honest. But I went crazy and bought a fuckload when I got promoted, so.” 

Louis chuckles, then raises the card to him, “I’ll call you.” 

“Please do.” 

“Thanks for the, erm, show. It wasn’t entirely torturous.” 

Nick tuts and clicks his fingers, “Dammit. And here I was thinking you were all seconds from tearing out your immaculate hair-do’s.” 

Louis hides a smile as he backs out of the room, “Bye.” 

“Bye, Louis,” Nick calls out after him, “Take care.” 

Louis dips out of the room and finds the exit of the building with the help of his security guard that stayed back for him. In addition to his whole new team, a designated bodyguard is also something he’s yet to grow accustomed to. 

They make it to the SUV waiting for them and as Louis hops inside, the boys all look at him with expectant glares. 

“Where you been?” Niall asks, and if his eyes weren’t pinched with slight concerned, Louis would’ve pinned him for annoyed. 

“Was Nick, wasn’t it?” Zayn says with a slight smirk to his mouth. “He hit on you, yeah?” 

“Wha’? No, he was just, er,” Louis stammers, racking his brain as to why exactly Nick had even called him back to begin with. 

“Is that his number?” Zayn asks, pointing to the card still in Louis’ hand. 

Louis blinks. “Yeah. He told me to call him if I needed... advice.” 

“Advice?” 

“Yes, advice. Now can we stop the questions?” Louis says, leaning his head back against the cushioning of the seat. “I think we’ve all heard enough talkback shit this morning.” 

“Agreed.” Niall says through a yawn. 

Zayn nods before looking away, but Louis still catches the present smirk on his lips. Liam remains forever quiet, but when Louis looks to him he can see the line between his brows as he pinches them together, slight worry etched there. 

Louis smiles at him, reassuring. Liam locks his gaze and he smiles, too, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. 

.

_September. Los Angeles._

Tour rehearsals take up most of their time in September. It consists of the four of them rocking up to a dance hall, standing around with mic stands and instruments, following directions and going through every song on the set list about three or four times — or before one of them quits halfway because of impatience or frustration.

Right now it’s Liam’s turn to throw in the towel, having played _Stockholm Syndrome_ for the forth time due to their stage director wanting a “different vibe” for their intro in the second half of their show, but not knowing exactly what he wants yet.

“Mate, you’ve got the vision in your head, now, surely.” Liam cuts in as Michael raises his hand, mouth paused open to presumably ask them to stop and restart again. “The song’s not gonna change anytime soon, I’m not going through it again.”

Michael, having heard this plenty times during the month, merely shrugs and calls for a half hour break. Louis lets his eyes fall shut with a soft groan. When he’s not standing around with mic stands and instruments, performing half heartedly to a room of unexcited crew, he’s standing around waiting until someone directs him what to do or say or where to go. Dare he say he preferred August. It was less demanding, in a way.

“Remember when we didn’t have all this?” Liam muses to him as he gestures to the room with his water bottle. “Who decides whether this is better or not?”

They’re sitting on side stage steps, and Louis watches Liam’s pinched expression, his forever red lips turned up in slight disgust as he looks out into the room.

“Yeah,” Louis replies, following his gaze. “Bit stupid, innit? All these people deciding for us. Bet the fans don’t give a shit where we stand on stage.”

“We should fire them.”

“Mm? Then what?”

“Then we go back to our normal tour shows, but with better crowds.”

Louis snorts, “Okay, but that’ll never work.”

Liam doesn’t reply for a moment, but then a soft grunt of agreement sounds and Louis smiles as he hangs his head.

It would be ideal if the band could do it on their own. If they could travel the world, sell out shows, win awards and get to the top of the charts. It would be nothing short of incredible if they could do it on their own, but the truth is that Liam’s got a one track mind at all times, Niall’s terrible at making decisions if asked, Zayn can’t stick to a schedule and Louis’ the least organised person ever. Combine the four of them and it’s a band with a history of last minute shows and underground promotions despite having four albums under their belt.

Louis doesn’t like to count their unspeakable EP’s.

“I bumped into Karli Kloss yesterday after rehearsals, did I tell you?”

“No,” Louis replies and subconsciously presses his teeth together, “No, you didn’t.”

“She wasn’t with Harry, though, but she said they’re going away this weekend together, I think? Was so weird because I just assumed she wouldn’t recognise me, but she did! Like, straight away.” Liam says, “She’s a lovely girl, I reckon. Perfect for Harry, they suit each other. But, erm, she was wondering if she wanted us all to hang out together when they get back, which I thought was nice.”

Louis bites the side of his tongue.

He feels Liam’s hand on his shoulder, “D’you think, Tommo?”

Louis looks at him skeptically, “Wha’, are you asking me? I can guarantee for a fact, Liam, that she didn’t have me in mind when she asked you.”

Karli and Harry had become official as of two weeks ago. Which had been odd, hearing that. He hadn’t even known they were even friends, and Harry hadn’t arrived with her to Liam’s party only three weeks ago.

Louis shouldn’t even care. If it weren’t for his new friend Nick or the band he’s in being so closely in contact with Harry, Louis wouldn’t even know about his ‘newly beloved’. And he doesn’t care. 

Liam’s frowning at him. “You’re always included. You know Harry and you’d love Karli.” He insists. Louis braces his elbow against the wall and uses his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose. “So will you come?”

“Er, no. Probably not. I’ll give it a miss.”

“Oh.” Liam says, squeezing Louis’ shoulder. “What else are you doing?” He gasps suddenly, making Louis drop his hand and look at him. “You’ve got a hot date, don’t you?”

“Who’s got a hot date?” Niall asks, appearing from nowhere. He’s got a fresh love bite right in the middle of his neck and Louis refrains from poking it as hard as he can.

“Louis.” Liam answers. Falsely.

“What?” Zayn asks, appearing next to Niall’s side. Because of course he’s right there. He’s also now looking at Louis with curiosity and slight hurt from not being told beforehand.

Louis sighs, “Jesus Christ. I don’t _have_ a—“

“Boys, can we cut the break short and get back to it now? There’s a few things I want to run through before you all leave today, if that’s okay?”

The four boys look at their stage manager, and already know that they don’t really have a choice. Liam stands and jogs down the stairs, sure to be first back to rehearsal since he was the one who cut the first session. Niall joins him, his steps bouncier.

When Louis stands, he looks down at his feet, smoothing down his clothes with his hands. He picks his head up, already down one step before having to stop, his fingers now paused where his fringe is. Zayn stands in front of him, blocking the bottom of the steps.

“Do you really have a date?”

Louis rolls his eyes at the question. What a stupid question. Louis’ barely found the time to have a good wank, let alone found someone worth dating. “No,” He says, then, softer, “‘Course not.”

“You should have one.” Zayn replies.

_A wank?_ Asks his head. “A date?” Asks his mouth.

“I’ll finds you one.”

“_You_?” Louis asks, brows to his hairline and disbelief in his tone, “You’ll set me up?”

“Don’t sound so trusting, Lou.” Zayn says with a scoff. Louis joins him and Zayn places his hand behind Louis’ neck. “I’ll find you someone good, I know you better than anyone.”

“Zayn, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you and that pot of gold over there haven’t disconnected once since getting together. You realise finding someone, a good someone, involves _actually_ looking at them, right?”

“I can focus on other people. I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah?” Louis raises his brows. “Alright, then. Don’t look at him at all when we’re rehearsing. Otherwise you owe me five dollars.”

“Five dollars?” Zayn’s hand faces him.

Louis grins, shaking his hand. “Five dollars.”

Not even seven minutes pass before Louis catches Zayn moving back on stage just to sneak a glance to the side profile of Niall’s face as Niall tunes his guitar for the next song.

Louis taps on his own mic obnoxiously with his finger, and then presses his mouth close to the microphone, his voice amplified loud enough to grab everyone’s attention.

“Pay up, fucker.”

.

He gets a call from Zayn later that night while he’s enjoying a smoke from his balcony. He doesn’t smoke often — hardly ever if he’s sober, feels as though it might affect his voice if he does — but tonight he needed a little help to unwind, and maybe take his mind off a particular something.

He answers the call with a half-hearted grunt.

“I was serious today,” Zayn greets on the other line.

Louis flicks the ash onto the barricade he’s leaning on. He knows exactly what Zayn’s referring to.

“That’s a shame,” He replies, “Like you better when you’re not.”

“I could set you up with someone who’d be really good for you. Make you laugh.”

“I laugh plenty.”

“No, you don’t.”

Louis frowns and stubs out half a cigarette before turning around and leaning his back against the barricade instead. “How would you know? Hardly with me anymore, are ya?”

“I’m with you every day.” Zayn rationalises. Louis tries to talk back but he quickly realises Zayn’s right. “But even before me and Niall got together, even before our big success, you’ve...”

Louis swallows harshly. His throat’s dry and the motion hurts. “I’ve...?”

There’s a lull of silence through the phone. Again, Louis knows exactly what Zayn means. But they’ve skirted around the obvious for so long, none of them addressing it even though Louis knows they want to. He wants to hear Zayn say it, speak it out into existence.

“I think that’s a conversation for another day.” Zayn settles on. Louis sighs softly, then brings another cigarette to his lips before lighting it. He hears Zayn clear his throat. “But I think you really need someone to perk you up a bit. Someone fun.”

Louis blows out the smoke. “You perk me up.”

“I think we’re talking about two different ways to perk someone up.”

“Ah,” Louis scratches idly at his brow, “And what makes you think I don’t get some, hm? Not like I tell you about every man I bed.”

“Don’t have to tell me.” Zayn says simply. “You’re so wound up I already know.”

“Wound up?” A breathy laugh leaves his mouth. “We’re currently rehearsing for our first ever arena tour. We haven’t had a day off since Liam’s party! How are you _not_ wound up?” A few beats pass, and Louis shakes his head in realisation, “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“It works, Lou. You need relief.” Louis sucks on his cigarette, his foot tapping with unease as he finds himself actually considering Zayn’s proposal. “You’re a member of an up and coming, successful band. You’re young, hot, increasingly rich—“

“Oh, please. Do keep going.”

“—and talented celebrity who just needs a good fuck. Let me do this for you, yeah?”

“You don’t owe me anything, Zayn.” Louis reminds him, thinking back to Zayn’s lost deal and bet.

“S'not about that.”

Louis looks up towards the sky. He trusts Zayn, but he doesn’t trust himself. The mere prospect of meeting someone completely new and giving himself to them gives him a feeling of unsettledness. He licks the top row of his teeth. “I wouldn’t have high hopes about this, alright?”

“So...?”

“Yes, fine. Okay.” Louis eventually caves. He can practically hear Zayn grinning. “But he can’t be, like, weird. Or super fucking athletic. Or just an absolute doorknob of a person.”

“Louis, please.” Zayn says, “I’m offended you even feel the need to remind me.”

“I’m gonna offend you even more when you present me this person and I snob him off.”

“Then I’ll just present you with another one.”

Louis chuckles, “You’re really not gonna stop now that you’ve got the love of your life, are you?”

“Just want you to be happy, Lou.”

There’s a dull pang in his chest. “I am happy.”

He doesn’t know if that’s a lie.

He doesn’t know why he feels the need to be out on his balcony, alone and smoking. Doesn’t know why he feels the need to curl up underneath his covers and zone out of life for a while. Doesn’t know why he can’t eat like a normal, functioning person. Doesn’t know why he sometimes feels as though his brain resembles England’s foggy sky.

He doesn’t know why seeing his two best friends in love brings him a touch of sadness. Or why seeing a headline of Harry Styles out with his new girl makes him feel inadequate. Of course Harry Styles is out there dating Victoria Secret models and whisking then away to romantic weekends. Of course he’s living his life and falling in love and using his time wisely and not tweeting bassists from pop punk bands.

And he doesn’t know why his thoughts come back to him. Doesn’t know anything, really.

It’s when he hears Zayn sigh softly that he registers the long stretch of silence between them. _That’s a conversation for another day_.

“Get some sleep, Lou. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

“I love you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis whispers, scuffing his sock against the deck, “Love you, too.”

.

A dinner party. Since when the fuck do Zayn and Niall host dinner parties? And since when does Louis say no to joining Liam out to the club in favour for a fucking dinner party on a Friday night?

He’s holding a bottle of red in his hand and he’s wearing nice shoes as he waits for a response at the door. He fixes his fringe for the hundredth time and hates the fact that his palms are a little sweaty because he’s nervous.

Zayn gave him absolutely nothing when he said he’d found someone for him. Louis poked and prodded but making Zayn spill something he doesn’t want spilt is the most difficult task on Earth. Fuck Zayn.

The door opens and arms are around Louis’ shoulders immediately, a kiss being pressed to the side of Louis’ head. He wants to hug him back begrudgingly, but he fails himself and squeezes Zayn back just as tight.

“He’s here already.” Zayn whispers to him. Louis’ stomach flips.

“Wonderful.” Louis manages to mutter.

Zayn pulls away and lets his hands linger on Louis’ shoulders. His face is gentle when he locks eyes with him.

“Be nice, okay?”

Louis can’t help the slight tilt to his lips as he puts on a voice different to his own, “No.”

Zayn snorts quietly, “C’mon.” He guides Louis into Niall’s flat and Louis can hear Niall’s cackle before he sees him. He can smell garlic and onion cooking and it makes his stomach growl. He hasn’t eaten since rehearsal this morning.

Niall’s first to turn around when the sound of the front door closing is heard. He’s sitting on one of the bar stools in the kitchen and his face brightens when he locks onto Louis as though he hadn’t literally seen him only a few hours prior.

Louis smiles at him but something else catches his eye and it makes him pause. He lets his gaze swoop over the kitchen until they lock onto the person's back, too focused on whatever is sizzling to turn around right away. He’s tall, and has hair as dark as Zayn’s. He’s wearing a t-shirt that Louis would otherwise think is an ugly colour but it clings to the skin and shows off the sparse area of his back and the bulging of his arms and Louis' just completely out of his depth, here.

“You look nice, Tommo.” Niall greets, throwing him a wink and unknowingly returns the breath to Louis' lungs.

At the words, the guest of honour turns around and Louis swallows harshly. He’s got dark features and a nice smile and Louis knows this because he's smiling right at him almost as brightly as Niall is. He can almost hear the annoying sounds of Zayn's glee radiating beside him. 

“Hi,” The boy says as he strides forwards. His voice is deep. “I’m Luke,” He outstretches his hand and Louis takes it. “You must be Louis.”

His hand envelopes Louis’ own and his brain fades for a second or two before his eyes flick up to meet Luke’s again. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Luke’s smile grows. “You too.” His hand remains in Louis’ as he uses his other hand to point to the bottle, “Want me to take that?”

“Er, yeah.” Louis drops his hand, “Sure.” Luke takes it and Louis clears his throat as he turns towards Zayn and Niall, trying to ignore their utterly terrible disguise of making it seem like they’re not lapping up the initial meeting playing out in front of them. “Does anyone want a glass? I’m not really sure what the fuck it is, to be honest. But the name sounds fancy enough, doesn’t it? _La Collina dei Ciliegi Amarone_.” He looks back at Luke when he finds him chuckling, the bottle now on the bench. “Bit pretentious, actually.”

“You speak Italian?” Luke asks, turning back to the stove but sounding interested.

“Not at all,” Louis admits, taking a seat next to Niall. “But the woman in the store said it to me and I s’pose it just stuck in me head.”

Luke laughs, then, a sort of breathy one and Louis looks away, smiling at himself.

“He speaks French, though.” Niall chips in, slightly louder than needed. Louis throws him a sudden look. “Quite well, actually.”

Luke turns to Louis, brows raised. “Really?”

“Don’t ask me to say a phrase,” Louis tells him, hands up near his chest, “I’ll need at least three glasses before any of that happens.”

Luke straightens his back and throws him a smile. It makes him seem taller and Louis merely watches on as he reaches up in the cabinet above, eyes still on Louis.

“I’ll pour you a glass, then.”

Louis definitely does not blush. And his voice definitely comes out as manly and strong when he says, “Okay.”

Three glasses in and one dinner down, the four of them lounge around the table. Limbs loose and bellies full, Louis the most relaxed he’s been in a while.

Luke’s telling a story about how he became a mechanic, how he’d always been inclined to fix things even as a kid. Louis learns that he’s not quite the athletic type, but definitely a handyman. He sounds smart enough, and he makes Louis laugh, which even surprises himself. He’s a great cook, too, which is always a decent bonus.

He finds himself liking him. It’s completely dangerous and not at all what he expected to happen but he keeps catching Zayn smiling at him, sure enough proud of himself.

He learns that Zayn only knows Luke through one of Liam’s friends. They’d been talking at Liam's party when Zayn had gone off alone and Luke’s friend had accidentally bumped into him. Apparently Luke had apologised so many times that Zayn told him to chill out and have a cigarette with him and they’d exchanged numbers then and there. He also learns that Luke's friend had been the one that Niall had been regretfully locking lips with most the night instead of Zayn's, which sparked an entertaining conversation. That is, until Niall had pounced on Zayn as an apology and left Louis and Luke to watch on with disgust. 

They all eventually end up in the living room after another hour or two, sprawled out onto the chairs and sofa, comfier than the dining chairs. The bottle’s finished and Louis feels himself lulling into a wine coma, smiling softly as he watches Niall talk.

“Best night of my life, man, I swear.” He goes on, “I’ve watched our Grammy performance a thousand times.”

“Best night of your life, huh?” Zayn questions him, tousling Niall’s body a bit with the arm that’s wrapped around him.

Niall looks him in the eyes and smiles. “Second best, babe.”

Zayn laughs and brings their lips together. Louis finds himself locking eyes with Luke across the room. Luke pulls a face, rolling his, and Louis giggles lazily, chest light.

“Did you watch our performance, Luke?” Niall asks.

“Damn, put him in the hot seat, Niall.” Louis retorts, then watches Luke laugh.

“‘Course I watched it.” Luke says, staring at Louis with a certain intensity. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Louis blinks back dumbly. His face feels hotter, suddenly. “Charmer.”

Luke smirks at him as he brings a glass of water to his lips, his gaze locking onto Louis’ own red-stained, empty glass. Once he takes a drink, he gestures towards him.

“How about those French sayings, Louis?”

Louis hums in question, shifting so his body lays sideways on the chair, legs falling off the armrest.

“Yeah,” Niall says, “Louis, tell me and Zayn we’re the cutest couple ever.”

Louis snorts softly, “In French?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” Louis focuses on a spot on the wall, his hand poised loosely on his wrist as he thinks, trying to retrieve any kept knowledge through a drunken mind. “Er... Niall et Zayn sont telles un... joli couple?” His eyes fall on Zayn, who’s looking back at him with a certain glimmer in his eye. “Something like that?”

"How do I know you didn't say we were the ugliest couple you've ever seen?" Niall pins him. 

Louis just shrugs lazily, smirk at his lips, "S'pose you never will, Niall."

Niall chuckles in response, and from where Zayn's sitting, it allows him to turn his head away from both Niall and Luke to look at Louis. They catch eyes and Zayn begins to try and telepathically communicate somehow, a sense of urgency in his eyes but Louis' mind is so languid that he kind of shrugs it off. It's then, that he looks back at Luke, and realises the intensity in the stare back at him. 

His stomach flips. 

"You're pretty good." Luke tells him. 

Louis directs his attention to his lap, unable to stop the smile that slips through. "Thank you. French was really the only subject I ever did somewhat well in, only 'cause the teacher was fit."

Luke laughs. Louis feels a sense of accomplishment. 

The four of them talk and Louis surprises himself with how comfortable he feels around Luke's company, how much he laughs and actually enjoys being around him. He has to give it to Zayn, Louis supposes. He did well.

An hour or so passes and it's only when Niall's yawning when everyone realises the time. 

Louis walks him to the door. He’s not entirely sure why, since it’s Niall’s apartment after all, but also he partially thinks he’d feel a bit awful if Louis had merely sat in his chair and watched him leave.

Zayn and Niall are all too cosy together anyway, completely oblivious to the outside world and therefore unable to listen in on anything Louis says.

But as Luke turns to him when they reach the door, all nice hair and chocolate eyes, Louis’ certain he’s short of saying any words at all.

“Well, I’d say thank you for having me, but this is Niall’s house,” Luke says on a short laugh, “And I’d say thank you for coming but... that sort of sounds wrong, too?” Luke’s eyes are elsewhere as he speaks, and Louis tries to absorb the words, he does, but he can’t help his vision latching onto the way his mouth forms words, the way his lips are stained with red wine. “So, I guess, uh, I just wanna thank you for being here.”

Louis’ eyes flick up to meet Luke’s, and Louis finds himself shying away into the palm of his hand. _Thank you for being here_.

“That’s nice of you.” Louis tells him truthfully, revelling the way Luke looks at him, smirk pulled up into a grin and eyes watching on as though Louis were something of a dream. “I’m glad I came. And I... I’m glad I met you.”

Luke looks as though he’s contemplating something even when his grin stretches wider from Louis’ words. He steps closer and Louis feels the air between them get thicker.

“This may be too forward but,” Luke swallows, then his hand comes up to brush briefly across Louis’ cheekbones. He lets out a shaky breath unwillingly at the touch. “Can I kiss you, Louis?”

Louis’ brain sort of lights up and he imagines his face looks much the same. He’s nodding before he even realises it. “Oui.”

Fucking _hell_.

Thankfully, though, Luke seems to find it endearing enough to chuckle softly before leaning in a little closer, noses almost touching. Luke’s hand returns, this time cupping Louis’ cheek, but still as gentle as ever.

Louis edges forward, only a bit, and he kisses Luke. He closes his eyes and Luke’s other hand finds Louis’ hip, pulling him that little bit closer. The kiss remains PG, since Louis likes to believe he’s an adult now who enjoys civil dinner parties and can kiss strangers without it leading into something, and also since they have company. Whose attention is currently on them like a hawk, two sets of eyes burning into Louis.

When they part, Luke’s hand strokes down Louis’ face once before it leaves completely. He asks for Louis’ number before he goes and of course Louis gives it to him straight away. Luke tells him to call him and Louis tells him he will. He knows he will.

Then Luke gives Niall and Zayn a final wave before quickly ducking down and giving Louis another kiss, this time quick, and then leaves the apartment with the door shutting between them.

As soon as Luke’s out of earshot, a wolf whistle scars Louis’ ears for life.

“Alright, alright.” Louis sighs, holding up his hands as he turns to them. “Save your catcalls.”

“Nice, isn’t he?” Niall says, bouncing his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah.” Louis agrees. He walks over to his chair and slumps down into it. “He is.”

“So,” Zayn says, lips curled into a smile, “I chose well, then?”

“Isn’t a loser, is he?” Louis replies, “So, yes, Malik, you did well.”

“Second date?”

There’s a tightness in his throat at the thought. He tries to clear it out, coughs into his fist. “Let’s, er, let’s not think too far ahead, okay?”

Zayn’s face looks at him and Louis hates Zayn’s face whenever he looks at him. Because it’s not just his eyes, it really is his entire face. All pinched brows and pouted lips that resemble confusion and the complexity of emotion that’s too hard to untangle. And his brain’s lagging as it is, so the withered attempt of trying to simultaneously convince Zayn nothing is wrong and also trying to figure out exactly what’s making him look like he’s put-out is more tiresome than it ever has been before.

At least Niall’s still looking at him with hopefulness and a hint of unchanged dirtiness in his grin.

Louis decides to leave the room of yin and yang by announcing his bathroom departure, and that’s when Niall’s phone rings. He doesn’t hear who it is when Niall picks up, already closing the door and unzipping his pants to pee.

He likes Luke. Thought they hit it off quite well. And Luke seems to like him, too. Which is a revelation in itself, really. Since not too long ago he was entirely convinced he was human dick repellent.

And Luke would be fine for a booty call, maybe. Someone to get his mind right, someone to get him off, someone to get his mind off a certain someone. And someone to fuck his stress away, as Zayn had so elegantly put it. Fine for a temporary relief, no strings or bullshit attachments at all. He wonders if Luke would be okay with that. Maybe he’ll call him tomorrow and ask.

He’s about to form a imaginative phone call in his head about how that conversation would go, when the door rudely swings open and his name is called.

Louis frowns, “What on—?“

“Hurry up,” Zayn tells him as Louis zips up his pants, “Niall just got a call from PR. He’s already in the car waiting for us. We have to head over there. Now.”

Louis flushes the toilet, “_Now_?” He sees the lines in Zayn’s forehead, sees the importance in his eyes, “Why the fuck would they need us there at this time of night?”

“It’s Liam.”


	4. Chapter 4

“So, just,” Louis squeezes the space between his eyes as he sits in the backseat, eyes shut. “Relay it to me again, Niall. In detail this time. What _exactly_ did she say?”

“When I answered, she sounded pissed off—“

“Pissed off?” Louis allows his hand to fall and slap down onto his thigh, “What, at us?”

“I’m not sure, I dunno. Just pissed off. Asked where I was, what I was doin’, who I was with. Didn’t get much out after I said I was with you and Zayn.” He turns a corner. Zayn flicks out the ash from his cigarette onto the road. “Then she said we needed to go to her office immediately. Asked why, said she’d explain once I got there.”

“Right. So, how do we know it’s to do with Liam?”

“Told her I wasn’t gonna leave my home if I didn’t know what I was leavin’ for. And I,” Niall’s eyes widen, turns to Zayn, “Shit, should I even be behind the wheel?”

“You’re fine. You had two glasses.” Zayn replies.

“Yeah,” Niall nods, then clears his throat. Louis’ frown remains present. “Yeah, so then she tells me that Liam’s already here, and that he’s inconsolable. Apparently.”

“Inconsolable?” Zayn asks this time, he’s afore calmness shattering, “That’s what she said?”

Niall swallows, then nods again, “That’s what she said. Also said that we needed to get there because we needed to figure out something. As a band. Because Liam’s gotten himself into something bad.”

“Fuck.” Louis says under his breath. He leans his head back against the headrest and looks to the roof of the car. “What do you think it is?”

“Could be anything.” Niall says. “He was out clubbing tonight.”

Louis bites the inside of his cheek. “Anyone know who he went with?”

Negative sounds come from both Niall and Zayn. Louis doesn’t know, either. All he heard Liam say was that he was invited and they should all come with him.

“Well, we officially suck as mates.” Louis says dryly.

Nobody talks for the remainder of the drive. Louis glances at his phone and sees that Sasha did in fact call him, too. There’s also a text from Luke and for some reason that places a heaviness in his gut. Two different worlds, it feels.

Once they arrive at the building, Louis, Zayn and Niall leave the car in quick succession. The words ‘_Liam_’, ‘_inconsolable_’ and ‘_bad_’ haven’t ever fit together before. They sound completely unfathomable to Louis’ ears, the worst thoughts crossing his mind the more he thinks about it.

They ride the elevator in silence, too. Louis wishes they’d talk non-stop. But he knows it in the way Niall’s biting the sides of his nails and how Zayn’s body is stiff beside him that they’re just as anxious as he is.

Once Louis hears a familiar ding, they enter onto the familiar floor, to where they’re greeted by a familiar face. But it’s not Liam’s.

“Good,” Sasha says, “You’re all here.”

“Where is he?” Louis asks, searching what he can see.

“In the meeting room.” She turns and they follow. “He’s calmed.”

“What happened?” Zayn asks, his voice low but with a touch of intensity.

She doesn’t reply, just keeps walking. The frustration is clear amongst all three of them, but when they finally open the door into the next room it’s wiped completely, replaced with softness that instantaneously makes them melt at the sight.

Liam’s sitting at the table, hair slightly dishevelled but clothes still intact from the night. His eyes are red-rimmed and filled with regret and a hint of fear as he looks at them. His nose looks sore from rubbing and his brows look like they’ve been tattooed in their positions — scrunched together and worrisome.

“I’m sorry, guys.” Liam blurts out.

Niall crosses over to him before anyone else, bending down to give him a cuddle. Zayn joins soon after, pressing a kiss to Liam’s cheek and stroking his shoulder. Liam starts to cry again.

Louis just stands there. He looks to Sasha and pointedly repeats the question from before. “What the fuck happened?”

“Sit down, boys, please.” She orders.

They eventually settle into their respective seats. They’d claimed their own when they entered this building for the very first time. They’ve only been here once before, back when they were being introduced to the world of publicity and what it entails. Louis remembers the meeting well — Zayn doodling in his notepad, Niall shamelessly yawning loudly, Louis rolling backwards in his chair and flicking Liam’s ear, Liam trapping his hands every time — it’s entirely different, now.

Liam’s sniffing back his tears, Niall’s holding his hand and Zayn’s on the other side gently stroking his fingers across Liam’s back. Louis’ eyes are focused on the screen.

The screen is shown through a projector behind Sasha. She presses a button and the previous blue colour is switched to a photo.

It’s of Liam in the same outfit as tonight, exiting a club. He looks happy, which might make the whole thing worse. Louis notices the problem immediately and he lets his eyes fall shut, deflated. It’d be like any other paparazzi picture ever taken of a celebrity on a night out. If it weren’t for the obvious white powder on Liam’s nose.

“Is that—?“

“Yes, Niall.” Sasha tells him, “That’s cocaine. In a picture already published and spread on the Internet.”

“So what?” Louis tries to argue. 

She merely stares at him, then presses the button in her hand. The picture changes to a video. Screen-Liam leaves the club, smiling like he was in the picture even as the calls and the flashes surround him. He reaches up and rubs at his nose as he walks onto the street. Then it happens so fast that Louis doesn’t register what happens at first. One of the paps say something indistinguishable, and Liam’s face changes immediately. His eyes might as well have turned to a fuming red, and he strides forward.

“What the _fuck_ did you just say, mate?” Screen-Liam snaps, finger thrusting up to the mans chest.

The pap immediately surrenders, stepping back. A fist is raised and the pap cowers before the crowd Liam had been with in the club thankfully interfere, tapping Liam and helping him away. The conversation carries on between the paparazzi, and the guy that riled Liam claims that he only asked about their sudden fame, and that's what set him off. The pap filming says something about Liam having some "heavy issues," and that's when Sasha turns it off.

“That man Liam just assaulted has since taken to journalists and now the world knows all about how he was threatened by a coked up member of the 'newest up and coming band who was high and out of control.’”

“That pap,” Louis spits, “is a fucking cockhead who would do anything for his name in the paper and a solid story. Liam should've taken his fuckin' camera and ran off with it.”

“Which is why I’m glad it wasn’t _you_ who exited the club high on coke and easily baited.” She retorts. Louis scowls. “Look, I know it’s difficult to ignore words when they’re shouted at you and it’s hard to keep your cool when you’re... intoxicated, but this is a perfect example of a _bad_ image.” A photo of Liam at his angriest towards the man is shown and Liam audibly cringes. “This is what we don’t need a month or so before tickets go on sale. And this _will _affect your tour. Nobody wants to buy tickets to an act that seems two seconds from going completely off the rails, no matter how punk-rock they seem.”

“So, what now?” Louis asks, leaning back into his chair. “Liam publishes a public apology? We go and plant a couple of trees and write press releases about how good we bloody are to the environment?”

“Ha-ha.” She says, taking a seat of her own. “No.” She presses the button again and it’s of the same photo but zoomed in on one of the girls Liam was with. “I know Liam didn’t know this, but this girl is underage. You can imagine the kinds of things the public are assuming with Liam accompanying her to a nightclub whilst using drugs. Some might think he even supplied her some.”

“I didn’t, I swear.” Liam insists, “I didn't even know her name! She's a friend of a friend that was there, I didn’t give any—“

“Liam, love,” Louis reaches over and takes Liam’s hand, “It’s alright, we know you wouldn’t. It’s her fault she was there and the club’s fault for taking her fake I.D.”

“Louis’ right,” Sasha says, “But we’re not sure whether she’ll spin her own story so she doesn’t look as guilty. We have to be careful.”

“What about Louis’ question,” Zayn asks, “What do we do now?”

“You’re all laying low for a few days.” Sasha replies, “And then one of you will take part in something that will overtake Liam’s headline. Something that will hopefully erase ‘One Addiction’ from the top Google result when I search _any_ of you.” She presses her fingers to her temples. "Honestly, why did you have to pick a name that was so easily pun-able?"

Louis sniffs. He clears his throat, the heaviness in his gut reappearing. “And? What does one of us have to do, then?”

“We...” She glances away, “We’re not entirely sure, yet.”

“We could.” Niall blurts. Everyone looks at him. He shakes his head, “I mean,” He locks eyes with Zayn, “Zayn and I. We can—“

“No.” Liam refuses before the sentence ends. “You’re not going public because of me.”

“If that’s what needs to be done,” Zayn nods, but Liam’s still muttering, disagreeing, “Then of course we’ll do it.”

Louis watches the discussion and a hand comes to his own hair, stroking it backwards and pulling at it slightly. He remembers his and Niall’s conversation when Zayn was having a vocal session at rehearsals. Remembers how Niall had told Louis they’d decided to keep the relationship private, how special that was going to be for them.

“Everything else is gonna be public soon enough,” Niall had said, then shrugged, “It’ll be cool, keeping this just for us. Makes it more intimate, you know? Special.”

And Louis had agreed, even felt his heart clench slightly. It made sense, is the thing. Zayn and Niall are the most private people Louis’ ever met. And now they’re risking to throw all that away just to cover up a scandal they didn’t even create.

“No,” She tells them. Louis turns to her. She says it flippantly, matter-of-fact and completely unaware of everyone’s inner turmoil in the room.

“No?” Zayn asks.

She shakes her head. “A couple within the band is controversial, yes. But it’s something that’d last three days. Maximum. Maybe a tiny interview of the two of you and how you fell in love, that kind of shit. Truth is, as cute as you both are, you’re not the couple the public is rooting for. Not enough that it’ll create enough distraction. It also looks too predictable following your band mate's fallout. It’ll work, but not to the power we need it to.”

“How are we _not_ the couple people are rootin’ for?” Niall questions, mildly offended.

Zayn just snorts quietly in response.

“I still think I should tweet something at least.” Liam mumbles.

“It’ll look forced, contrived. You’re all staying silent on the issue until promotion for the tour.” She takes turn in looking them all in the eye. “Understood?”

They all nod and mumble some sort of confirmation. Louis glances at the screen. Liam’s angry face greets him. Louis sighs heavily, hanging his head.

.

They were told to go home, after that.

They were told to go home and brainstorm anything they could do to make themselves appear well to the public eye — “we’re a team, remember?” — Sasha had reminded them, and Liam had said he’d make it his mission to make it okay again.

Zayn and Niall left first, Louis telling them he and Liam will get a cab in a few moments. Liam had looked at him skeptically at that, but Louis just stood from his chair and sat down next to him, placing his hand on top of his.

Once alone, Liam speaks. “I’m so sorry, Lou. To you... I’m sorry to you especially.”

Louis scoffs, “Me? I honestly don’t think it’s a big deal, mate. So what you were caught having a good time and got a little angry at some twat who shouted at you? It’ll be old news in a week.”

“Not that,” Liam says, shaking his head, “I just know how much time and effort you put into this band. You built us from the ground up, y’know? You worked harder than any of us to get us here. And I’ve almost just pissed it away because of one stupid night.”

“That’s not true, Liam.” Louis tells him, voice softer than before. “You all work just as hard as me. But it doesn’t matter how we got here, alright?”

Liam nods and looks at their touching hands. “I...” He twists his mouth, glances towards the wall where the screen had been propped. “I looked so scary up there. Never wanna see myself be that mad ever again.”

“What did he say?” Louis asks, the curiosity burning at him. “The pap. I’ve never seen you that angry.”

Liam looks at him, slides his gaze between Louis’ eyes. Then he shakes his head. “Don’t remember.”

“Mm,” Louis rolls his lips together, not entirely convinced, “Okay.”

“You were, uh, right, though.” Liam tells him, “About coke. I was extremely sloppy in the club, do you know how many free drinks you get when you’re famous? Oh, my god.” He smiles, suddenly exasperated. Louis wants to join him but his ears are suddenly filled with the sounds of his own heartbeat. “It was _bad_, I was falling here and there, vision blurry. And it was only nine o’clock! So when Kat opened up a bag and chopped some, I just remembered what you said about it straightening me up, and how it worked wonders at my own party. Remember how different I was? I had a few lines, smartened me up instantly.”

Liam snorted cocaine because of Louis. He exited the club with powder still on his nose because he’d never been shown the proper way to clean it up. He wasn’t sloppy, wasn’t even photographed leaving the club with lazy eyes and loose limbs. He’d been pent up and easily angered, and Liam had snorted cocaine because of him.

God, they’re not fucking nobody’s anymore. They’re not regulars who can get away with doing this shit all the time. They’re recognised. They’re familiar. This kind of shit has consequences, now. Louis should’ve known better.

“Lou?”

He blinks. He catches Liam staring at him. “Yeah, mate.” He smiles, “Works wonders. Sorry, brain’s still a bit fuzzy from all that wine.”

“Oh!” Liam snaps his fingers, his pupils are still dilated and Louis has to look away. “I completely forgot! How was the night? How’s mystery man?”

Louis takes his hand off Liam’s and places it onto his shoulder instead. “How ‘bout we, er, talk about it on the cab ride home, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.” Liam says, already getting up. “You staying with me?”

Louis nods, “Yeah. I’ll stay with you.” They reach the elevators. “Call a cab and tell it to wait, I’ve just gotta use the loo.”

Liam pats his back as they depart from each other, and then Louis makes his way over to the office, spotting it with a light still on.

When he reaches the doorway, he sees Sasha still there behind her desk. They lock eyes and Louis strolls inside.

“Louis Tomlinson.”

“I’ll do it.” He announces.

Her head tilts slightly to the side. “You’ll—?”

“You said one of us needed to be the one to be apart of something that helped our image. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

She frowns at him. “Are you sure, Louis? Just a few days ago you declined publicly meeting with another celebrity to boost your following.”

Louis makes a sound in the back of his throat. “D’you want me to do it or not?”He feels his teeth straining from clenching his jaw as he waits, but the guilt that he feels doesn’t seem to leave.

She just nods curtly. Her smile's present and her eyes are telling Louis that he's doing an honourable thing. Or maybe Louis' just hoping that's what she's saying.

“You’re our man.”

As soon as he’s outside he finds Liam waving out of a taxi’s window. Louis lights a cigarette before he hops in. He answers Liam's question from before and retells the night, ignoring the blackness of his bandmates’ eyes.

.

The rest of the weekend passes in somewhat of a blur.

Louis had spent the night with Liam and they’d talked until the morning as they lain in bed — chatting about topics varying from debates over which of their shows had the craziest crowd to discussing how many species of dinosaurs haven’t been discovered yet — and only briefly touching on the issue of the night as though they were toeing the water, scared to go in. 

Liam still doesn’t know that Louis had spoken to Sasha by himself. Louis doesn’t really plan on saying anything, either, especially since he knows it’ll only be another thing Liam will worry about. And Louis’ not so sure if he wants to be responsible for not only Liam’s PR disaster, but also for permanently situating Liam’s brows into a furrowed position for the rest of his life.

And as Liam had snored softly beside him, Louis had stared up at the ceiling as the sun had begun to peek through the curtains, going through the endless possibilities of what he will eventually have to do. 

It won’t be that bad - Louis had convinced himself - it’s only fucking cocaine, how much distraction do people need? He'd also wondered, as he memorised the patterns of Liam's ceiling lights, if it had been himself caught out on record. He'd done more drugs in his life than all of his band members put together, and he's certainly been in more bar fights than any one of them. Zayn chooses to be the least confrontational, Niall will never start a fight (but he will end it, if Louis needs a hand) and in the whole time he's known Liam he's never thrown a word filled with aggression at anyone. It should've been Louis caught out and having to face the consequences. It _should've_ been him. 

Now he’s at home, face-planted in his own bed and too exhausted from an all-nighter plagued with his own thoughts. 

He shuts his eyes, ready to try and sleep, when his phone buzzes on his bedside table. He groans. 

It’s a text from Luke. And as Louis opens the thread he realises he never ended up replying to him last night. Louis just, overall, is the best person. 

He apologies to Luke and tells him good morning in response. Luke replies almost immediately, and asks what he’s doing today. 

He deliberates. On one hand, he could spend his entire day off attempting to sleep even though his mind is a whirlwind _or_ he could occupy himself with the best distraction he can think of. 

It’s a no-brainer, really, and so he invites Luke over. 

.

Half an hour later and Louis’ showered, fed (thanks to the impromptu burger Luke had delivered), and propped up on Luke’s lap as the sounds of their kissing intertwines with the background noise of Harry Potter. 

It hadn’t taken much, if Louis’ honest. They’d been close together on the couch since the movie started, and all it’d really taken was Luke’s hand sliding up subtly on Louis’ thigh before Louis decided to straddle him and call it a day. 

Luke’s hands are large as they brace Louis’ hips, pulling them down and following the movements as Louis swivels them in circles. He knows he’s teasing, knows it’s working from how he feels Luke filling up underneath him, how his grip tightens every so often. 

Louis’ hands are in Luke’s hair, massaging his fingers into his scalp, pulling at it slightly. Luke moans into his mouth, then, and Louis takes his bottom lip in between his teeth, pulling it as they part. 

Luke’s pupils are blown, hungry when he looks at him. Louis continues swivelling as he bends down to attach his mouth to Luke’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Luke mutters under his breath, arching up slightly to gain some friction. 

Louis slides his hands out from Luke’s hair as he sucks a spot on his neck, then keeps one hand sliding down his chest before reaching the top of Luke’s waistband. He hears Luke inhale sharply as Louis’ fingers trail over Luke’s bare skin at his naval, and Louis licks over his neck before he parts completely and looks at Luke for permission. 

Luke nods instantly, his hair messed up and his lips red. Louis’ eyes zero in and kisses him deeply as his hand palms over the front of Luke’s jeans. Luke’s hands slide over Louis’ ass and with the tracksuit he’s wearing Luke’s able to grab him completely and squeeze, making Louis sigh into Luke’s mouth. 

They kiss for a few more moments, Louis cupping Luke through his pants and Luke kneading Louis’ arse through his, before Louis detaches and slides down. He ends up kneeling on the ground and Luke’s head rests back onto the couch with his eyes up at the ceiling as Louis unzips his pants, taking Luke’s cock out from under it. 

It weighs heavy in his hand, the length of it substantial but definitely not the biggest Louis’ ever had. He gives Luke a few pumps, making him fully hard before he dips down and wraps his lips around him, loving the way Luke pushes up into it, his hand involuntarily moving to Louis’ hair. 

“Jesus,” Luke whispers. Louis smirks around his cock. 

He pops off, his hand stilling, "That's not my name."

“Wha—?” Luke cuts off his confusion when his eyes go from the ceiling to the boy in front of him. His dick twitches in Louis' grip, and Louis takes the opportunity to lock eyes with him and bend down, tracing his tongue lightly over the underside of his cock. "_Louis_."

He can't help the small chuckle as he watches Luke refrain from bucking his hips upwards. He squeezes his cock once more, then takes mercy on him and swallows him down completely.

.

Saturday night sees the whole of One Direction despite Louis go over to Harry's house for a dinner party. 

He receives a consistent stream of messages from all bandmates with endless praise of how the house looks when they're not drunk and how rich the food tastes. Also about how _nice_ Karli Kloss is. 

Louis doesn't reply to any, doesn't read most. Too busy tangled up with Luke to care. 

.

It's another week before Louis' whisked away after rehearsals without consent. He's not above thrashing his arms around and biting his way through whatever he needs to, but he allows it. Because he had agreed. 

It was a better week than last. Rehearsals were actually going well; Michael had a solid plan that everyone was following, the set list had a better flow to it, everyone was familiar to the arrangements and Louis was genuinely excited to finally get back on tour. Of course, there was still the black cloud of their tarnished public reputation, and the majority of days that Liam had caved and looked through the tabloids and the general population's opinions always ended in sadness and regret that weighed on all of them. 

Louis had once made the mistake of flicking on the news, greeted with the reporter mentioning Liam and their band as Louis had already walked off to the kitchen. “And in entertainment news, drummer Liam Payne from Grammy award-winning punk group _One Direction_ is still yet to comment about the controversy surrounding a near-attack towards a bystander. Speculation surrounds the powder around Payne’s nose, most believing it to be the drug, cocaine, accompanied by a minor. The band is set to start their tour at the beginning of next year, but with young fans—“ and that’s all Louis had allowed to hear once he’d jogged back into the room and tumbled over his couch to reach the remote. 

“_Bystander_.” He’d scoffed.

They were never cut out for the picture-perfect, cookie-cutter type of world. They were misfits in school, never really found their place until they'd miraculously formed as a band. Though, it wasn't exactly miraculous. Niall had announced at the assembly that he wanted to play tunes and it didn't matter if they didn't get along, just wanted to sound sick, or so he had put it. And Liam had joined immediately, since he'd become somewhat of a loner in school, keeping to himself and always quiet. Louis had joined a few days later, a bit behind in the whole news since he'd ditched assembly that day and opted to smoke weed at the lake behind the hill, but had heard his friend Stan discussing it in class. 

They'd gotten along immediately, Louis, Niall and Liam. Something about Niall's easy nature, Liam's genuineness and Louis' comedic flair had bonded them together faster than any of them ever thought was possible. They'd only played together once before the rest of the sessions were just them merely hanging out and kicking around. It wasn't until Zayn had come around to Niall's garage one time without an instrument when the three of them realised he was out of place. 

"I can sing." Was all he said. And so they'd set up their instruments, and Zayn sang. Louis had never felt something click like that before in his life. 

So, yes. Rehearsal was going better, their moods not so much. And Louis almost feels guilty, really, because he's struggling to feel completely shithouse like the rest of them. He just doesn't care what strangers think. He doesn't look at social media at all. Has come to the conclusion that it really is just mindless and an awful invention.

And, also, he's been having so much sex with Luke he doesn't even know what cloud he's sitting on. Which is why, when Sasha grabs him the minute after he'd downed a few glasses of scotch whilst sprawled out on his couch and whisks Louis away, he takes a few moments to settle down to ground and realise what the fuck is going on. 

"Where are you taking me?" Louis asks her as soon as they're outside, walking fast towards her car, vision progressively getting more blurry. 

"To a meeting." Is all she says. And suddenly Louis feels like he's six feet under. 

.

“I still don’t understand why you had to pull me away from my _couch_. An email really would’ve sufficed, honestly.” 

“Louis, we both know you never check your emails in a prompt manner.” She states as they exit the elevator onto their usual floor. Louis scoffs as he folds his arms over his chest. “Also, this isn’t something that I thought you’d be able to handle over the phone, either.” 

Her tone seems... weird. Louis stops their tracks and eyes her carefully.

“Jesus,” He laughs in an attempt to brighten the mood, “What the fuck are you setting me up to do? Bungee-jump out of a helicopter over the Grand Canyon like Will Smith? Vocally become an environmentalist and travel to China to live with pandas for a year?” 

She levels his stare, brows pinched slightly. “Where does your mind go?” 

“I don’t know,” He admits quickly, then wipes his palms against his sweats, “I’m nervous?” 

“I can see that.” She pats him on the shoulder, “But neither of those scenarios are happening, so you can breathe a little.”

“I actually wouldn’t_ mind_ the panda thing, just to clarify, although I’ve never been in contact with any. They’re supposed to be loveable creatures, though, right? Like, they’re bears but they’re placid and just eat bamboo all day—“

“Oh my god,” A sudden voice stops all train of thought, “Does he always babble on like that?”

It’s spoken so lowly that Louis’ sure he wasn’t supposed to hear it. But he did. Ha.

“Excuse me?” 

It’s glorious, watching Harry’s back stiffen at the sudden acknowledgement. He’s got his body hunched over a table in the next room, head in his hands. He looks dishevelled, like he just woke up, except his attire seems way too formal for bed. 

Then he turns around slowly, his eyes lowered like he’s almost afraid to meet Louis’. They eventually do, and Louis doesn’t hold back with the way his stare pins him down. 

“You’re excused?” Harry replies, the level of nonchalance immediately boiling Louis’ veins. So he’s still bitter towards Louis, it seems. Wonderful. 

“Funny,” Louis begins, strolling into the room, “You’re the biggest babbler on earth, and _now_ you’re annoyed? Are you the only one legally allowed to babble? Is it... against the law to babble, according to you?”

He’d already lost Harry’s eye contact the moment he started talking, but Louis had persisted anyway, strolling in further and further. Now, though, Harry looks up at him, tired and confused and bored all mixed together in something that makes Louis feel a little exposed. 

He’d never been on the receiving end of an intimidating Harry. Annoyed, yes, but never intimidating. _Louis’_ supposed to be the intimidating one. He’d never even thought Harry could be intimidating. But he stares at Louis like he’s an idiot and it’s only then that he realises how foggy his brain is. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Harry asks him. Genuinely. 

Louis should feel insulted, probably, but he finds himself wanting to also know the answer. 

“Well,” Another male voice shocks Louis, and he sees a man in a suit sitting opposite Harry at the desk, “Now that you’re both here, why don’t we get started?” 

Louis watches the way the man gestures to the seat beside Harry. He eyes him wearily. “Sorry, who are you?” 

“I’m David Fletcher. A member of Harry’s PR team.” 

Louis blinks, “Right. So… why do you need me?” 

“Because this involves you, Louis.” Sasha says, shutting the door behind her. 

Louis and Harry’s heads both whip to her, “_What_?” 

The two PR members exchange a look. Then David _I-Wear-Frogs-On-My-Tie-Because-I’m-Emotionally-Unstable_ Fletcher begins to talk, “We have a proposition for you both, and we think it’d really be worthwhile for you to take it.” 

"Don't tell me," Louis groans, face towards the ceiling, “Are we... duet-ing?” 

“_Collaborating_.” Harry corrects dryly. Then his face changes, eyes widening and mouth flat. “Wait, are we?” 

“No.” Sasha answers, now sitting next to Fletcher. She looks to Louis. “Sit.” 

Louis drags his feet across the floor before slumping down into the chair besides Harry. He wouldn’t feel so bad for it if it weren’t for the few audible sniffs Harry makes. Then:

“Are you _drunk_?”

“So what, Harry? Can a man not have a bit of scotch in his downtime?” 

“It’s _midday_.” 

“It’s _adulthood_.” 

“Don’t you have a tour you have to rehearse for?” 

“Don’t you have an arse you have to stick your head up?” 

“_Okay_,” Sasha interjects, palms out. Louis falls back into his seat, placing his hand up to shield his vision from Harry. “Arguing will not work.” 

“Work?” He hears Harry ask. 

“We want you both to work together.” Fletcher clarifies. And before Louis can even react to that, he adds, “In a relationship.”

It falls on deaf ears, to be honest, because the voice inside Louis’ head is just laughing way too hard to even process what’s just been said and also making it impossible to hear the conversation that follows. He thinks he hears Harry raising his voice at the three of them at one point, he’s not sure. 

But Louis had promised that he was their guy for whatever they needed and now they need him to do the impossible. The absolute impossible. A relationship, _god_. A fake, fucked up relationship. He's heard about these in the past, obviously, knew that it could've been a possibility ever since he'd gotten that call after Harry's short, online conversation with him. But Louis was just getting into something good with Luke. He’s honest, and kind, and bloody great in bed. He's hit the jackpot.

And, shit. How’s Louis even supposed to break the news to him? He can’t exactly say he’s in a fake relationship, can he? How the fuck do these things work? Who can know? Obviously, he doesn’t have to worry about his family, although he can imagine the outrage they’d have finding out their abandoned runaway is dating Harry fucking Styles. Maybe then they’ll actually contact him, care about his life. And how will the boys react? Surely they’d have to know the truth, Louis can’t keep anything from them. They’ll probably have mixed reactions, Liam will for sure punch him out, something that’s quite overdue, if he’s honest— 

“Louis?” The reference brings Louis back to the present, and when he blinks, his eyes sting. “Louis? You with us?” 

Louis zones in on Sasha. He realises everyone’s staring at him, he wonders how long he’s been gone. Even Harry’s looking at him slightly worried. 

“Y-yeah, ‘course.” Louis says, then shifts so he’s sitting straighter in the chair. “What... erm, what were we saying?” 

She gives him a brief once-over, “Harry was just saying that you’d never agree to something like this, and I mentioned that we already had an agreement before anything else was decided, and...” Her pause makes Louis refocus his attention to her, “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Fine,” He says with a wave of his hand, “Just... _drunk_, y’know.”

Harry snorts, “Right, so we’re done here, yes?” 

Fletcher’s brows furrow. He has quite spectacularly large eyebrows, Louis notes. “Harry, I want you to consider this carefully. After these eight months are over, your life will be forever—“

But Louis splutters once the words hit him. “Eight _months_?” He’s at the edge of his chair, arms lent against the desk, “You expect me and this dork to fool the world for eight _months_? Why such longevity? Why can’t we be a mere weekly fling that only thrives through ‘close source stories’ imbedded in trashy magazines?” 

“As much as I despise him, I agree with Louis.” 

“Aww,” Louis coos, looking back at Harry, “You despise me? I feel bad, Harold. Since I merely feel nothing for you.” 

Harry doesn’t reply, just looks to his PR and makes a frantic expression and hand gesture as if to say, “_see_?”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Fletcher sighs, looking between the two, “You both clearly have some unresolved tension that neither of us had anticipated. That makes it a little hard. But the public only know what the public have seen. And they’ve seen you interact on Twitter and in blurry footage or photos from parties, they’ve seen the mentions in interviews, and although that might not be much, they love it. I don’t know what it is about you two, but fans seem to be fascinated with Louis Tomlinson from One Direction and Harry Styles being... an item.” 

“An item?” Louis questions, “Or just, like, friendly colleagues.” 

Fletcher chuckles. It may be the liquor talking, but Louis kind of wants to pinch his cheeks. “Louis, you’re really not in tune with social media, are you?”

“He’s really not.” Sasha adds. Louis scowls at her half-heartedly. 

A phone is slid over the table towards Louis. He’s leaning over it as Fletcher starts to explain. “I’ve just searched up both of your names in Twitter, and this is the results in only the past hour.” 

Louis peers at the screen. His brows progressively draw closer and closer together the more he scrolls, ingesting the words that he reads from fans and others. They talk about the two of them like they’re already a couple. There’s photo edits of the two of them, there’s videos that automatically play like a romantic montage and there’s tweets upon tweets about imagining how they’d interact. And it’s hilarious, really. If only they had a peek into reality.

He turns to Harry, then. It’s completely evident that he’d rather be anywhere else. His legs are crossed, the one folded over his knee bouncing impatiently. His chin is in the palm of his hand and his eyes are looking out the window, a certain aloofness that looks ugly on him. 

“Oi, Styles, you know about this?” Louis asks him, pointing to the phone. 

Harry blinks lazily, like his brief attention shift is a mission in itself. He removes his hand from his face. “Duh.” 

“Duh?” Louis moves back into his chair and shifts his body towards him, “So you somewhat knew this could be a possibility, then? You’re up to speed with our budding romance?” 

Oh. Which reminds him; 

“Harry’s got a _girlfriend_,” He tells PR suddenly, “Do you expect him to break up with her just for you? How the fuck does that not breach anything in that contract of yours?”

Her and Fletcher’s expressions both change into something softer, looking at Louis like he’s a fucking preschooler who just learned a new word. Patronising, is the word. 

“Louis,” Sasha says, “Harry and Karli’s relationship _is_ for publicity. She’ll understand.”

Something dark washes over Louis. Because when Louis looks to Harry, Harry’s already staring at the hands that are in his lap, his jaw clenched, almost ashamed. Harry and Karli are fake. Louis feels himself frowning. How many have been fake? 

Instead of asking, though, Louis just turns away and fires up another question, “Well, what about Luke? What am I supposed to tell him?” 

He feels Harry’s eyes on him but Louis faces forwards, watching the perplexity in the room duplicate. 

“Who?” Fletcher asks. 

“We just started seeing each other.” Louis says, but even that tastes weird on his tongue. “Er, sort of. We haven’t clarified anything? It’s mainly physical. But what if it wasn’t?” Louis challenges, holding a finger up, “You, legally, can’t mess with anything in our personal lives like that, right?”

“Right.” Sasha says. “And if you want to stay with... What was his name again?"

Louis clears his throat, "Luke."

"Luke, right. If you want to stay with Luke, then we can’t force you to change that. But,” She pulls out a wad of paperwork from her bag and Louis eyes it uneasily. “You did say you were willing to do whatever it takes to get Liam and your band’s name out of negative press. And based on Twitter and Instagram’s data, this, really, is the one thing that will save face and boost your popularity in time for ticket sales.” 

Louis lets the words simmer for about two full seconds before he lets out a loud, pained noise that resembles a whine and tilts his head back to rest against the cushioning behind him. With eyes closed, he somehow watches the room spin. He looks to the ceiling, then, and it continues. He rolls his head to the side, locking onto Harry. 

He supposes, in the very dimly lit corners of his mind, that Harry wouldn’t be the worst pretend-partner in the world. He’s got a nice pair of legs and a dimpled smile. Which actually makes Louis’ mouth twist in realisation. Again. He turns towards Fletcher. 

“What’s in it for him, then?” He asks, gesturing towards Harry. “He’s not had any bad publicity lately that I’m aware of, and he surely doesn’t need _more_ popularity. Why the hell would he need to get into a relationship with someone like me? If not to benefit our band?” Fletcher opens his mouth to speak, but then Louis’ gasping in revelation, pointing between him and Sasha. “You’re fucking each other, aren’t you?” 

He thinks he would’ve missed Harry’s splutter-laugh in amongst Fletcher’s comically widened eyes and Sasha's instant deflection if it weren’t for Louis looking at him since Harry covers it up right away, disguising his mouth with his hand. Louis caught it, though, and he allows a smirk. 

“That is _not_—“

“Louis, do you always have to be so bloody crude?” Sasha scolds, interrupting Fletcher’s dismissal. She rolls her eyes, then, more used to Louis’ behaviour than poor, baby-faced David. “Harry’s got his own half of the deal. Whether he wants to share that with you is up to hm.”

Louis immediately wants to argue it, complain that Louis’ secondhand dirty laundry was just aired out to the whole room but, oh, _Harry’s_ allowed to keep his private? 

But then Louis looks at him for the fifth time in what seems like an hour, and for some reason he softens. If Harry didn’t have anything that benefited him, Louis’ sure he’d already be out of the room and PR would be scrambling to find another way. But Harry’s sat here the entire time with only a few protests. 

Harry needs this. 

“Fine, then.” Louis tells the room, slapping his hands down onto his thighs, “I’m in. Though, it seems as though I don’t exactly have a _choice_—“ 

“You always have a choice, Louis.” Sasha reminds him dully, “I’ve told you this.” 

“—since I’m held captive by my team. My hands are tied, truly.” He stands up, “What I _will_ be doing, however, is taking this,” He picks up the pile of paperwork, surprised by the sheer weight of it. He hates how his voice sounds slightly strained over some fucking paper, “and reading through every single page, even presenting it to my lawyer. Y’know, like an adult.”

“Smart decision.” Fletcher tells him, smile genuine. 

“Cheers, teddy bear.” He hitches the pile onto his hip as he speaks to the rest of the room, decidedly not locking eyes with Harry, “Erm, Sasha, keep me updated on this clusterfuck, will you? And, Harry, I’ll speak to you soon, dearest?” 

“Oh, god.” He hears Harry mumble.

Louis turns and strolls-slash-waddles out of the room with the excess weight by his side — How many times does he have to _sign_ this thing? And is there a whole copy of it for Harry too? How many trees did this take? Aren’t they in the electronic age already? — and doesn’t look back at anyone before leaving the building. 

It’s not until he’s back in the car when the excess weight is no longer by his hip. Instead it’s something in his chest, weighing him down further and further. The realisation setting in on what he’s about to do. 

.

“I know you fucking hate anyone asking you, but,” Luke eyes him and Louis refuses to lock onto his gaze, preferring to hold it with his shoes instead, fringe falling in front of his eyes. The palm that's encased in Luke’s feels sweaty and Louis desperately wants to depart, possibly forever. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Louis shuts his eyes and breathes for a few moments. Then he feels a soft hand on his chin and he wills the tears away, vowing for the alcohol-kind being the only liquid he’s allowed to be confronted with tonight.

His chin gets tilted up and Louis has no choice but to catch Luke’s eyes. He’s so open and kind and Louis feels like a piece of trash standing next to Ghandi himself. He wonders if Ghandi’s ever been metaphorically cheated on before. Though, Louis’ not _cheating_-cheating exactly. He’s merely agreed to break up with Luke in order to start an almost-immediate romantic relationship with another person against his will. His stomach stirs. 

“Lou?” Luke brings his attention back, and his knuckles caress Louis’ cheek lightly, his eyes looking at him with concern. 

“Just—“ Louis stops himself. He takes Luke’s hand in his own and lowers it from his face as he lowers his eyes. “I’ll be back?” 

He flicks his gaze up to give Luke a slight cringe at the way his voice came out higher than intended, but he turns to leave without correcting himself, needing to not be so god damn suffocated. 

It takes some time to leave the house; the influx of people despite the sparse area making it difficult to squeeze through. Once outside, he immediately sits down onto the grass with his back against the wall, breathing in the open air and hoping that it’ll open up even more and swallow him whole. 

He frowns as he tilts his head back. He’s so fucking drunk. 

He'd thought going to Nick's party would be a perfect distraction, thought it would be the goldmine of nonchalance, in a way. Like, he'd come here with his not-quite boyfriend, get obliterated, and not think about the future just for a few hours. Instead, he's been unable to look Luke in the eye for no more than three seconds without feeling the need to throw up and he's not even the _good _kind of drunk. 

He hasn't really spoken to anyone since the meeting yesterday. He'd returned to an empty home quite ghost-like and airy. He doesn't even know how to bring it up in conversation, either. But Luke's been the most understanding and kind person and it really does make this whole thing worse. 

"Louis?"

Oh, god. Louis braces himself as he looks to the voice. Relief settles on him when he sees Nick standing there, looking fresh yet a little confused. 

"Hiya, Nick." He says, using a hand to brace his eyes from the sun. 

"Hello," He replies, amusement in his tone, "Taking a breather, are we?"

Louis lets out a dry laugh and begins to stand up. "Yeah, yeah." He gives Nick a hug, "Happy birthday, mate."

"Cheers, love." Nick's hand lingers on Louis' arm as they part. "Did you come alone?"

"Ah, no, actually. Here with a friend." He looks around briefly, spotting Luke who had followed him. "Having a good day so far?"

"Lou?"

Louis turns to Luke, a drink in each hand. His eyes look apologetic, but then they lock onto Nick and his face lights up immediately. He's so excitable over celebrities, something Louis' quickly learnt since meeting him and especially since being here, it's a wonder how he hasn't literally squealed and clapped over anyone. 

"Nick," Louis says once he takes the drink from Luke's hand, "This is my friend, Luke."

Nick's brows rise as he takes in the man next to him. "Ah, a friend indeed." He holds out his hand and Luke takes it, "Nice to meet you."

"So nice to meet you," Luke replies, grinning, "I'm a huge fan of the show, you're hilarious."

"Ooh, well, I like you." Nick says, then turns to Louis, "You have to introduce me to your friends more often."

The three talk for a while, and it actually seems to help with distracting Louis from reality. Nick and Luke get along well, what with Luke praising Nick every two seconds and Nick lapping it up like Louis knew he would. It even makes Louis laugh a few times, letting himself fall into a sense of comfort and leaning into Luke's side with practiced ease. But it's not until Louis' eyes catch sight of a familiar head of hair when his insides seize up completely. 

He's wearing a floral shirt to suit the occasion, tucked into white pants with a brown belt and boots. Louis can't see his face but his hair's tucked behind one ear and as he turns to talk to someone, his earring glistens in the sun.

Nick seems to be looking in the same direction, because not soon after Louis' reaction he says, "Mm, yes, poor thing. Just broke up with dear Karli today."

"Who did?" Luke just has to ask.

"Styles. He's here today, which is lovely of him, but just not the same. Nobody really is after a break-up, are they?"

"What's in this?" Louis asks, regrettably loud as he holds up his almost finished glass. 

"That?" Nick raises a brow as Louis nods, "That's a Strawberry Daiquiri, darling. Rum, lime—“

But before Nick can finish, Louis' already downing the rest of it, feeling the slight sting at the back of his throat. He turns to Luke, who's already looking at him in wonderment.

"Another?"

.

Collapsing on his bed is the only way he approaches sleep anymore. He’s got a headache that seems to be attacking him directly behind his eyeballs and a stomach that’s screaming at him so loud he wants to punch it. 

His urge to eat is almost as strong as his urge to sleep and he knows that either task he chooses will be interrupted by his own body. It’s a lose/lose situation and he’s never wanted anybody to be in control of his life until now. 

“Ugh!” He groans loudly into his mattress. He hardly has the energy to strip himself of his clothes besides his shoes but he finds his outfit oddly comfortable, now.

He closes his eyes, then, and refuses to let the clenching of his stomach wake him up. 

.

The clenching of his stomach wakes him up. 

It’s not his fault, though, as there’s a beautiful waft of food seeping into his nostrils. It smells like oiliness and fattiness and like Louis’ dream breakfast and it’s coming right from his kitchen. He breathes in deeply, a soft hum unintentionally sounding from the back of his throat and— hang on a minute. 

It’s coming right from his kitchen. 

Louis’ eyes fly open. He didn't have anyone home with him last night.

He gets to his knees and that’s when he realises he’s got a duvet over him. He didn’t get under the covers when he dove into bed, he was way too lazy for that. He flicks his sight to his clock when he hears something flip and sizzle on a pan. The time tells him he’s been out for a few hours. His heart tells him he’s scared shitless.

He’s had a fan break into their tour bus before, back in Rome. She had just climbed through the window and refused to leave. They’re never harmless, Louis had liked to believe. But he’s spent enough nights with a fair few celebrities to hear enough horror stories that’ve since shocked him to believe otherwise, now. 

He looks around his room and picks up the nearest weapon he can find. As much as his band likes to promote themselves as punk-rock, Louis doesn’t think any of them are equipped with anything that could save them in a fight. He ends up picking up one of his shoes. He may not have weapons, but he does have impeccable aim. 

He approaches his bedroom door carefully, hearing the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, some plates being spread out onto the counter. He gets to his doorway, steps out of the corridor, and looks into the kitchen. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Louis groans as he runs a hand through his hair. 

Niall turns to him, completely unfazed. “Ah, fancy seeing you here.” He reaches over the counter and picks something up before throwing them to Louis. Louis catches it with the hand that’s not grasping his shoe, and he finds his keys in his palm. “You have those for a reason, y’know. Should learn to lock your doors, otherwise you get strange Irishmen in your kitchen cooking you food while you sleep.” 

“Ha-ha.” Louis says dryly, dropping the shoe to the floor as he walks towards him.

“What were you gonna do with that, anyway?” Niall asks with amusement as he nods towards the discarded shoe, “Make me smell it?” 

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re here? Or are you gonna just keep making shitty jokes?”

“Can’t a man cook another man some food out of the goodness of his heart?” It’s said with such devotion that Louis can’t help the smile. It falters, though, when Niall regretfully turns serious. “When’s the last time you ate, Tommo?” Niall asks, dishing up bacon. Louis’ stomach growls. 

“When I got home.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’d you have?” 

Louis slumps down into one of the barstools. “I ordered some shit.” He looks down at the table, sees a leftover line of ketamine on the surface and brushes it off onto the floor subtly.

Niall scoffs in response, unaware and serving eggs beside the bacon. “There were no dirty dishes when I got here, or the smell of take out. And your phone’s flat.” He pushes one of the plates towards him as Louis rolls his eyes. “You were also half off the bed, face-first.”

Louis picks up a piece of bacon and bites it before humming. “And how do you fall asleep, dear Nialler? Pleasantly coddled with roses in your hair?” 

“Daisies, actually.”

Louis scoffs. 

They eat in silence for a moment. Louis’ body thanks Niall a million times for getting its first real substance since yesterday morning. He probably should start taking better care of himself. He _does_ take better care of himself, more than anyone else would ever take care of him, actually. Everybody knows that. Niall should know that.

He looks at his friend, then, and sees Niall eating slower than normal, his eyes focused on a spot on the bench, his face contorted into something reluctant. Louis closes his eyes and breathes in deep. 

“Alright,” He says, dusting his hands off together. Niall’s eyes dart to him and Louis shifts back into his stool. “Out with it, then.” 

Niall clears his throat, then nods. He sniffs, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then faces Louis front-on. “I just, like, wanna clear the air? Zayn, he, uh, said he told you about me kinda rejecting him at Liam’s party. And I just remember talking to you and telling you one thing, then I obviously fucked up and did something else and I get why you were... why you were kinda cold with me after that—“

“I wasn’t _cold_.”

“S’okay, though. Kinda deserved it. Like, who goes around confessing their love for someone then turns around and gets with someone else?” He laughs nervously, frown prominent. 

Louis straightens his back and reaches forward to him, “Niall, there was no, like, rulebook to follow, yeah? It was all new and hard to wrap your head around. You were emotional and confused, lad. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” 

Niall smiles at him genuinely, then reaches forward and pats his hand over Louis’. “You’ve been a real help throughout all of this, y’know? Zayn and I... there’s no way it could’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

Louis scoffs, shakes his head. “I doubt that.”

“No, really.” Niall’s eyes widen in certainty. “Every time I’d go to Liam about it he’d clam up and just tell me to do whatever my gut was sayin’. What kinda bullshit is that?” 

Louis lets out a laugh. He picks up another bit of bacon and tears it apart. “Thanks for brekkie.”

“No worries.” 

Louis bites the inside of his bottom lip. He can see Niall’s uneasiness still running through him. Louis breathes out heavily. “Niall, honestly, mate—“

”We _appreciate_ you, dammit.” Niall snaps. The side of his hand collides with the marble and Louis’ slightly shocked still, until he quickly recovers and looks away. 

“And I appreciate the passion?”

Niall grunts in frustration. He looks like he wants to tear his hair out. It’s a lot for a Saturday morning.

“I didn’t... come over here to talk about Zayn. That was just to make you realise what kind of impact you have on us without even trying. You already do so much! But you _never_ take time for yourself, Lou.”

“I take plenty time,” Louis disputes. “The other day I ran meself a bath, actually.” 

“Oh.” Niall says, nodding with his lip jutted out. “A bath. Well, that changes everything.” 

Louis nods too, nibbling some of the egg that’s on his fork. He can genuinely feel the rage heating off Niall’s body, and Louis’ so hungover he doesn’t process it as well as he could.

Waking up with a fright, Louis learns, dismantles all routined sequences that usually come with early mornings. He bypasses all the yawns and muddled thoughts as blurry as his vision with sleep-filled eyes and goes straight to deliberation and existential crisis’s. 

Because the thing is, he has to date Harry. That’s an actual thing that will occur in his own life starting extremely soon. Tickets go on sale next month and Louis sells his soul next week. It’s overall a lovely thought. 

His stomach stirs and Louis quickly realises why he hasn’t eaten anything recently.

What the fuck are they even meant to talk about when they’re seen together? They haven’t held a conversation for more three minutes total.

He’s so in his own head that at first he doesn’t register Niall’s forlorn sigh. But then a chair leg is screeching against the floorboards and Louis startles out of his dilemmas. 

“So you’re really not gonna say a word about it?”

Louis watches Niall’s eyes stare at him as he stands with disbelief and slight pity. His brows are pulled together and Louis really doesn’t feel well at all. 

“What?” 

“You taking the fall for the band.” Niall states simply, and if Louis didn’t know better, also disappointedly. “You going behind our backs and making sure you did the dirty work. You making agreements with PR without discussing it with _any_ of us.” He emphasises each point with destain and Louis feels the bacon swirl around in his belly uneasily. “You and Harry Styles. Dating.” 

And like a kitchen timer reaching its number, Louis brings a hand up to his mouth as he leaps off his chair. He’s by the toilet bowel as quick as he can, emptying what’s left of his guts, swirled with what is undoubtedly a mixture of Strawberry Daiquiri’s and Tequila fucking Sunrises’. 

He feels a warm hand on his back. As comforting as the gesture is, Louis would rather a cold towel, probably. 

“I know you guys don’t really get along, but vomiting’s a tad dramatic, even for you, Tommo.” 

“Fuck off.” Louis mutters half-heartedly, spitting into the bowel. 

Niall chuckles from above him. Devil child. 

Once the feeling of death has somewhat subsided, Louis flushes the toilet as Niall hands him a glass of water. He takes it gingerly and flushes his mouth out with half, then drinks down the rest. He leans his back against the bathtub, sitting on the floor, more exhausted than when he’d returned home last night. 

“Even though you’re a victim right now and I kinda feel bad for you,” Niall speaks, voice somewhere Louis’ too lazy to pinpoint, “I’m still mad at you.” 

“Join the club.” Louis says, voice hoarse. 

He feels a hand pet his hair.“Yeah? Who else is a member?” 

“_Harry_, obviously, for being dragged into this.” He coughs into his hand, throat dry. “And Luke, when I inevitably have to dump him. Liam, probably, for taking the fall for him and Zayn for not talking to him about it prior.” He sniffs, “And, you know, me.” 

“For?” 

“For sabotaging my pride, going against practically _everything_ I stand for, for just...“ He looks at his hands. _Being me_, he almost says. 

Silence is almost worse than the sound of dry heaving right now. Seconds pass before he decides to check if Niall’s still awake. He finds him already looking down at him, hand paused in Louis’ hair and eyes softest they’ve ever been. Zayn’s made him softer, Louis reckons. 

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

Louis’ brows rise. Perhaps not. 

“As lovely as that is, Niall—“

“I could smack you over the head twenty times and your brain would still be as jumbled as it is right now, do y’know how frustrating that is?” 

Louis turns to him, hand falling off his hair. “No, Niall, I have absolutely no idea. Please, elaborate.” 

“Nobody’s gonna be mad at you.” Niall tells him, then flicks him on the shoulder. Louis’ sure to pull a face and place a hand over the spot.

“Do you have to be so aggressive when telling me words of reassurance?” 

“Yes,” He deadpans. “Also, with facts.” He taps the side of Louis’ head, “You’re too hard on yourself.” Before Louis can comprehend even an ounce of what’s occurring, he receives another slap to the other side of his head. “And you have a weird outlook on the way people perceive your fantastic self.” He certifies it all with a heavy hand to the top of his head and holds it there to look him in the eye earnestly. “And we’re all really lucky to have you in our lives.” 

Louis blinks. He feels like he sort of has whiplash and shock at the same time. But then his heart is warming and it’s been a very eventful morning. 

“Okay.” He replies. “But... for now, I’m gonna go back to bed. Where it’s safer.” Louis touches Niall’s knee as he goes to get off the floor. “And where I don’t get attacked.” 

“Sure, buddy.” 

Louis eventually stands from the floor, world spinning for only five seconds before he’s able to see where his footsteps are getting placed as he moves. He makes it to the doorway of the bathroom before he decides to turn slightly, locking eyes with Niall who’s watching him with a slight frown to his mouth yet amusement in his expression. 

Louis bites the inside of his lip twice before he’s asking, “Niall...?”

And his friend already understands the unspoken question. He leaps off the bathtub and then joins Louis to his bed.

They cuddle how they did when they had travelled on their shitty tour bus that smelled of weed and sweat, shared with another pub-based band and squashed with two people per bunk. 

Niall wraps around him, head buried into Louis’ hair and his instant snores are so familiar and comforting it almost dulls the anxiousness swirling in his veins. 

There were times when he hated being on the road — sharing a bathroom, taking shifts driving countless hours at a time, the arguments between nine boys every day, the lack of air circulation, hot nights becoming unbearable — but now the beds are too big when he’s alone and the air is too circulated and he never thought he’d be here, complaining of this. 

But for now, he’s got a security blanket wrapped around him and for now, it’s okay.


	5. Chapter 5

He awakes to fingers lightly stroking up and down his back. Louis allows it for a moment or two, being lulled to a place that was much better than his dreams. Or his nightmares, maybe. He doesn't remember, but the dried wetness around his eyes is a pretty sure giveaway that it wasn't the most pleasing scenario. 

"Morning." 

Niall's voice. Right. The dull ache of his throat is a clear reminder that he'd been throwing up his guts not too long ago. Shit, how long's he been sleeping? He musters up a gruff of a response back, frowning when it hurts. 

"Gonna get out of bed today?" 

Louis blinks one eye open. He spots Niall sitting up in bed, eyes on him with his spare hand holding his phone, thumb paused from scrolling, his other hand placed lightly on Louis’ back. 

Louis shakes his head further into the pillow. 

"Zayn's here, he just ducked out to grab some food. Liam came, too, but he left not too long ago."

The dull ache spreads to his head and he brings the heel of his hand to his eye. "How long've I been asleep?"

"Few hours."

Louis sighs. He's a fucking mess. 

He rolls onto his back slowly and welcomes the light with many complaints. His mouth feels disgusting and he has no idea how Niall can sit there next to him without wanting to kick him in the gut for being so lazy. Louis would if he could. Liam would. 

"Left 'cause he's mad, yeah?" Louis asks, voice croaky, "Liam?"

Niall lets the phone drop to his lap. "Fuming. Was gonna give you a good talkin' to but saw your sleepin' face and felt too mean."

Louis scoffs with a smile, "Idiot. Should've got me while I was down."

"I think we should talk about Luke."

Louis stills his movements from where he was poking out the sleep from the corners of his eyes. He moves his hand to look at Niall, and he's got his serious face on. 

Louis blinks. "Huh?"

Niall shifts so he's facing him, and there's a presence of a frown on his forehead. "Aren't you wondering how you managed to even get home yesterday? Alone?”

He looks to the ceiling. It hadn't crossed his mind, really. But Louis had been exponentially drunk at the party, for all he knows, he and Luke could've had a screaming match and Louis had to find his own way home. Wouldn't be the first time he ruined something spectacular whilst intoxicated. 

"Nothing different from all the other times it's happened, I'm sure." Louis comments, using one hand to pull himself up the bed, his other hand braced against his aching throat. 

But Niall's shaking his head. "You really have no memory?"

"It's a gift I hold dear, Niall, you know that—“

"_Harry_ called us yesterday, Lou." Niall tells him, and the words resinate in Louis' mind. Images of a head of hair and florals in the sun haunt him. Not this again. Didn't they _just_ have this conversation? He’d thrown up from it, in fact. ”He called us once you left Nick's and told Zayn we should probably check in on you. I was gonna tell you before, but thought I'd go easy on you since you'd just woken up."

But Louis can't fathom this at all. He hadn't spoken to Harry all day at the party. Or at least he thinks he didn’t. God.

“I— I've just woken up _now_." He looks at Niall, then, incredulous, “Are you sure he dropped me home? Wasn’t… wasn’t at least Nick?”

"I think it was Harry’s driver. But do you know how worrying that is, mate? You didn't even tell us about the party. Harry probably thinks we're the worst mates of all time."

"Fuck what Harry thinks." Louis retorts. He spots the way Niall looks at him. Louis scrunches up his nose. "Sorry. Reflex."

"I think you should thank him."

Louis' eyes widen. "Hang on, hang on." He holds his hands out in front of him, "Harry didn't have to be a saviour and give some bloke some money to give me a ride. This was probably all just an elaborate coincidence, a story that ties in beautifully with our future relationship timeline. I would've made it fine on me own."

"He said you were unresponsive at one point." 

He splutters, "_Napping_, probably!" Fucking hell, his head hurts. "It was a day party, a man's gotta recharge."

Niall groans before moving off the bed. "Whatever, Lou." His head is hung, and even the hand that combs through his hair to push back his fringe seems defeated. "Point is, Harry had to make sure you got home safely because Luke hadn't been there. Nor did he let any of us know."

Louis tilts his head back against the headboard and shuts his eyes with a sigh. Luke had probably pranced off with another celebrity that he'd become so fascinated with. Isn't surprising or disheartening in the slightest. Louis' quite used to people leaving him for something more fabulous and shiny, Luke's no exception, especially with the puppy-dog mindset he has. But ultimately, Louis had let his band down yet again. Disturbing their sleep and making them worry. 

Again, he's a fucking mess. 

"I'm sorry." He says earnestly. He opens his eyes and sees Niall standing with his hands on his hips, face awaiting something more. "I'm sorry I fucked up again, and you had to come here and pick up whatever pieces I 'ave left."

"...Honestly, do you not _hear_ me when I talk?"

Louis fish-mouths for a second. “You—"

But the words fall short when Louis' front door opens. Louis looks to Niall in question and Niall leans a little to the right, looking passed the doorway and to the rest of the house. Louis watches the exact moment Niall's eyes spot Zayn, can see it in the way his entire self relaxes, a tiny quirk to his mouth appearing. It's like the conversation they just had previously doesn't exist anymore, only Zayn. Louis watches in amazement. 

"He awake?" He hears Zayn's voice before he sees him, and Niall nods.

"He is." Louis replies. 

Zayn appears in the room with a plastic bag filled with food. It stinks up the room and Louis' stomach growls hungrily. Niall takes the bag from his hands and Zayn's entire attention falls on Louis, and his expression — shockingly — is filled with apology. 

Then Louis' suddenly holding Zayn in his arms, confused but not objecting, and Zayn presses a kiss to Louis' neck. "I'm so sorry, bro."

This makes Louis jerk his head back, "What on Earth for?"

"For thinking some random could help you be happy." 

"Sounds pretty harmless to me." Louis says with a shrug. "So I don't accept the apology. I do enjoy the cuddle, though."

"I think you fall too hard, sometimes." Zayn admits suddenly, voice slightly muffled in Louis' ears. Somewhere in the corner of the room, Niall's helping himself to the food. "Give yourself too easily to people that don't deserve it."

Huh. 

Louis thinks he’d quite rather get slapped in the face with a knife-studded octopus multiple times than have these continuous words of honesty from his friends this morning. His throat hurts, his brain hurts and now he’s pretty sure his heart hurts, too. 

"You think I fell for Luke?"

Zayn moves out of Louis' space since he'd completely dropped his arms around his body, and looks at him. "You've been with him every single day, all day, since you met. He told me he has a key to your apartment."

"It's _easier_." Louis explains, indigent. "That way I can lay naked when he arrives and I don't even have to get up to open the door."

Zayn doesn't even laugh and Niall's not even chewing anymore. Louis sighs, looking down at where his fingers are playing idly with a thread from his duvet. Something must happen over his head — some soulmate-y type telepathy — because Niall's suddenly announcing his departure and he takes the food with him. Then it's just Zayn and a useless piece of shit sitting on a bed. What a duo.

He calls himself this because the hurt visible in Zayn's eyes makes him feel this way. Then the words come. "Why've you pushed me away?"

Louis swallows and it stings. Those words somehow bring him back to the time after high-school when Louis had couch-hopped in every single house that would let him. A rut-sack and his guitar being the only two things of value in his life. He'd ended up at Zayn's house even though he'd told himself he wouldn't burden the boys any longer than he had to since they'd already homed Louis for weeks in total. But he'd grown closer to Zayn than any of them, and his company was calming. 

"Liam said he wanted to tour with us." Zayn had told them when they were walking back from the milk bar, each holding a chocolate bar and a frozen coke that Louis paid for using the money he'd saved up from busking and his casual job at the footy ground. A way to pay Zayn back, he'd figured. "What d'you think about that?"

"As One Direction?" Louis'd asked, the prospect of getting out of here and travelling with his three best friends to play music had sent excitement throughout him. "I say we leave tomorrow."

Zayn had chuckled and agreed easily, but then the excitement sort of dissipated after a while, and Zayn had been frowning for longer than necessary, so Louis braced himself before Zayn had said, "One day you're gonna tell me everything about you, yeah? And I'm gonna do the same."

Louis didn't question it nor mock it. He'd known the boys were concerned about him, wondered why he'd never invite them over, or have them meet his family, or spoke about anything personal. And spending nights at each of their houses was sure to raise some speculation, but none of them ever pushed him, never forced him to tell them why. And Louis trusted Zayn, still trusts Zayn. Which is why he had said, "Alright." 

From there, they'd told each other more than one should — Until now. And it's all Louis' fault. 

"I don't mean to, Zayn." Louis replies, honestly. "It's... habit."

"Yeah," Zayn says, "But not with me."

"Yeah." Louis agrees. "Not with you."

Zayn returns to cuddling him, one arm slung over Louis' body. They lay there for a minute, the soft sound of the television playing in the other room. 

"Thought you were doing better, for a minute there." Zayn admits, "That's why I never checked up on you."

"I _am_ doing better." Louis argues before he even knows what he's arguing about. It's a defence mechanism. Louis hadn't even known he'd been... worse. His voice softens, "Aren't I?"

Zayn breathes in steadily and Louis can hear him think about it. 

”You've shut us all out, Lou.” Zayn tells him. “Signed a contact that now controls your fabricated personal life. Went out somewhere without inviting any of us or letting us know. And you’re not being completely honest with us, I know you’re not.” Zayn tally's it off and Louis half-expects him to keep going until he's run out of fingers and toes. "You're self-destructing again."

Louis breathes out harshly through his nose, "So what, then? I just let Liam be the most judged in the band even though he's the most likeable? I just stop having a social life outside of you guys? You and Niall are in your honeymoon stage and Liam doesn't wanna hang out with me right now. So, yes, sue me for trying to have fun with a guy that seems to think I'm fucking fit."

The silence in its wake kind of resembles dust falling from a gunshot to the ground. Once it settles, Zayn rolls off him. 

"Come eat."

The lack of response hardly surprises Louis. "What is it?"

"McDonald's."

Zayn's already out of the room before Louis decides to throw off the covers and follow.

.

_Can we talk?_

_Harry _

Louis stares at the text. Almost wants to delete it immediately. No, he can’t talk. Can barely think, actually.

“Louis, attention please.”

Instead, he replies, because he’s always been one to cave into temptation and he did save Louis from a party that he might of been slightly unconscious for. 

_Who is this and how did you get my number_

“Louis.”

He smirks as he sees the three dots pop up to signal that Harry’s replying. Then: _Are you serious? _

“Louis!”

The shout makes him jump a little, the phone wobbling from his hands. His eyes immediately land onto the photographer, realises everybody’s eyeing him with slight concern but mostly frustration. Louis knows the look well. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Louis tells the room, one palm up. “I’ll just—“ The phone vibrates in his hand and he looks down at the screen. 

_It’s about our first sighting. Call me when you can._

“Alright, no more phones until we’re done with this shoot. We’ve got a lot to get through and not a lot of time.” Wanda announces, walking closer to Louis. 

He submits easily, kinda thankful he physically can’t respond to Harry just yet. Their first sighting, god. So professional. Not their first date; ‘_sighting_’. What are they, fucking whales? 

“You ready to go, mate?” Liam asks from beside him. 

“Do you think I resemble a whale?” 

Liam gives him a blank stare. “Yes.”

Louis lets out a dramatic, high-pitched whine. “I knew it!”

Liam breaks and smiles, moving his hand up to ruffle Louis’ hair. They’re on good terms, now. All it seemed to take was an apology on Louis’ part, an unsolicited apology from Liam’s part, and a big, slightly suffocating hug on both their parts. 

He doesn’t think Liam could ever be mad at somebody for too long. Oh, the envy. 

“Alright, boys!” Wanda gathers the band and Louis picks up his bass. “Eyes to the camera, please!” 

.

Louis finds himself at the same house he was at when he was running off the excitement of winning a Grammy and too drunk to completely comprehend the vast space filled with high-profiled faces. 

This time, he’s completely sober and running off riddled nerves that don’t make sense and the consistent drag that lingers whenever anyone recently cuts ties with someone they care about. 

Louis had somewhat broken it off with Luke. Or, rather, Luke had already broken it off with Louis. Either way, it had been entirely non-climatic in every sense of the word. Louis had previously thought he’d have to sit Luke down, explain that it needed to be over and then maybe have a good-bye fuck to heal the wound a little. Instead, all it took was for Luke to ask Louis what he wanted for dinner through text and for Louis to reply that they shouldn’t meet up anymore. That was three days ago, and Luke hasn’t made contact since. 

Louis only feels a little bad about it. 

And as he knocks on Harry’s stupidly large doors as the day turns to night, Louis has an unwelcome squirming sensation in his stomach. He tells himself that it’s merely the affiliation this place has, transporting him back to the sheer adrenaline he’d felt last time. 

Then the door opens and Harry stands there, dressed in lounge wear. He’s got what seems like his recently washed hair tied up (though, Louis would love for it to be disastrously oily instead just so he could look at him and the nerves within him could vanish completely) and strayed, curled stands falling at the top of his head. 

It would be fine, except now Louis suddenly feels entirely overdressed.

He knew he should’ve gone home and changed out of the clothes he was made to wear for the photo shoot. But he’d already been running later than he thought he would, and he didn’t need Harry making snide comments about his unprofessionalism and his inability to stick to an agreement. 

So he just came the way he is. And it’s written in Harry’s slight hesitation that he thinks Louis looks ridiculous. 

“I’ve just come from a shoot.” Louis explains before any greeting. He shuffles a little under Harry’s gaze, and scratches his nose idly. “Can we get this over and done with?”

Harry blinks from where his eyes are locked onto Louis’ pants — leather with laced-up ties trailing from the side of his ankle to his hip, revealing the skin underneath — and looks away completely before stepping back, allowing Louis to walk in. 

He tugs the cropped, sheer top down self-consciously as he walks into the house and he wonders when the hell he let Harry’s opinion on him affect him this much. Maybe it’s because Harry has recently seen Louis at his most vulnerable, inebriated and incapable of helping himself. And maybe it’s because Louis knows he’s definitely the last person Harry would prefer to start a fake relationship with. He can tell with the way Harry avoids Louis’ eyes that he’s trying hard not to call up Karli and tell her to come back immediately. 

I mean, a Victoria Secret model to himself is quite the downgrade. Louis wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.

“So,” Louis says, clapping his hands together and stopping his thoughts, “How does this go, then?” He turns from where he’s (not) marvelling at the grandness of Harry’s interior and faces the owner, eyes still adverted elsewhere. “You have all the experience with this kind of thing, so I’ll just follow your lead.” 

“Um,” Harry says. Or mumbles, Louis’ not sure. It makes him frown. He watches as Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “You have your nipple pierced.”

Louis’ frown immediately turns into raised brows, the aftermath of Harry’s loud observation making the both of them silent. Louis looks down at himself, and yes, his left nipple has a piercing and it’s visible through his shirt. Louis looks back up at Harry. 

“Yes, I do.” He says, then tilts his head to the side, “Is that a big no-no? Is Harry Styles not supposed to date boys with pierced nipples?”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment and Louis almost feels inclined to take it out then and there. But then Harry’s dropping his head and shaking it, letting out a short chuckle.

He lifts back up and smooths over his hair with his hair, “No, Harry Styles isn’t supposed to date boys at all.”

Louis’ frown reappears, a question on the brink of his lips.

But Harry quickly moves on, heading out of the room, “Let’s sit somewhere.” He announces. 

.

They end up in the garden sitting on a stone log because of course they do. The garden is more of a courtyard of sorts, and it’s exactly where Louis could picture some exotic animals to appear. He also vaguely remembers where he had sat on Bebe’s lap and snorted cocaine. He can’t exactly recall it looking like an entire rainforest then. 

“What are you thinking?” Harry asks. 

Louis slides his gaze from the corner of the garden to Harry’s eyes that aren’t on him. He thinks Harry’s only looked at him twice since they arrived. Not that he cares but they’re supposed to be boyfriends now, supposed to be believable and have some sort of chemistry at least. 

Being honest is a vital trait in any relationship, so Louis says, “Just thinking about how I snorted coke whilst sat on Bebe Rexha’s lap in that corner there.”

Harry rolls his lips together, and if Louis didn’t know better, he’d say Harry was holding in a laugh. “I meant for our first public appearance.” He tells him, and Louis looks up to the sky. “But that’s great to know.” 

“Why does our first appearance matter so much?” Louis asks, lifting his bum off the seat slightly so he can grab his packet of cigarettes and lighter from the back pocket of his pants. “I mean, either way it’s just gonna be us two, yeah? We could be seen through a window together and it’d make national news, being you and all.”

He lights the cigarette and breathes in deeply, the taste of nicotine satisfying him. He turns towards the sky again and breathes out, sure to not to get the smoke in Harry’s direction. He opens his eyes and find Harry’s attention actually on him, and his face is pinched. 

“Do you have to smoke right here?” 

Louis hesitates for a second, “Am I allowed to smoke right here?” 

But Harry doesn’t reply to the question, and his voice is characteristically morbid when he says, “Those things will kill you.” 

“Ah, kinda the point, innit?” Louis says, throwing him a wink. 

Harry stares a moment longer. Louis’ not in the mood for a staring contest himself, so he takes another drag and waits for Harry to move on. 

He does. “I think we should go to a coffee shop.”

“A coffee date,” Louis weighs up, humming, his leg starts to bounce. “Cute.”

“It’s foolproof.” Harry defends.

“It’s _cliché_.” 

Harry lets out an annoyed sigh and shifts his weight so he’s facing Louis, fingers combing through his hair, “Any other suggestions, then?”

Louis flicks off ash onto the ground, “Could always publicly release a porno.” He grins, “Would make our names sky-rocket in terms of household popularity, wouldn’t it?” 

He kind of expects a laugh, maybe a slight snicker or a roll of the eyes. Instead he just sees Harry’s jaw as it clenches, and his eyes narrowing in. 

“If you’re not going to be serious about this then you’re welcome to leave.” 

Louis’ movements pause. His eyes begin to slightly widen. Harry’s really, actually pissed. 

It’s evident in the way his shoulders are tense and his brows are furrowed and the reason Harry won’t look at him is because he really can’t stand the sight of him after all. Louis suddenly feels two feet tall. 

“I’m sorry. Look, I _am_ serious. I’m just battling it with stupid jokes because this is all new territory for me.” He tells him honestly, “I’m not trying to be unprofessional. Just trying to... lighten the mood a little. Be friendly.”

Harry’s attention is set on the wooden table in front of them, and Louis thinks there may be a burnt hole from the intensity of his gaze. Then he’s shaking his head as Louis breathes out another cloud full of smoke, and the look Harry gives him almost knocks him backwards. 

“We’re not going to be friends, Louis.” The words come out stern, nailing Louis to his seat. “So stop trying to be.” 

Once recovered, Louis swipes his tongue quickly over his top teeth and stubs the cigarette out onto the stones beside him. 

Not friends. Right, obviously. Louis hadn’t even known where his inkling of a potential relationship other than mutual indifference could stem anything more came from. It’s not like Harry’s sickeningly chummy with his entire bloody band.

So Louis shrugs, and leans forwards onto his knees. “Fine with me, mate. Wouldn’t dream of being worthy enough for your presence.” He rewards (or punishes, more fittingly) Harry with a smile, and gets a lazy glare in response. “So, a coffee date, you say. Where, when, and how long for?” 

.

They really do meet at an ordinary café. 

So ordinary, in fact, that the customers inside it don’t even bat an eye when Harry strolls through the door. Nobody expects a successful worldwide superstar to buy coffee and cake at a fucking corner café, nor do they expect one to meet up with a bassist from a newly-recognised punk band for a PR stunt. But it’s happening, and it’s real.

Or so it may seem. 

Fuck. Louis’ so out of his depth. 

Harry walks straight to Louis from where he’s seated in a booth in the corner, tea placed in front of him. He’s lucky that the person who served him is a man in his forties who truly couldn’t give a shit about today’s celebrities. Louis already decided he respects him. 

“You should stand up and hug me.” 

Louis eyes Harry. He’s wearing a beanie and a trench coat, having not shredded them at the door. It’s cloudy outside, but nothing that deems worthy of an overcoat and wooly materials for an outfit. But he’s also wearing heeled-boots, which Louis is sure to be a direct fuck you and power-play, especially with the command he just made. 

But their precious initial interaction caught on film is running out by the millisecond, and the more Harry stands there waiting the more the headlines won’t be about their new relationship, but rather about the most awkward duo of all-time. So, Louis stands. 

“Two seconds, tops.” Louis warns him directly. 

He hates how he has to stand on his tippy-toes to loop his arms around Harry’s neck.

Harry loops his arms around Louis’ waist. They’re surprisingly firm. “Three.” He negotiates. 

Louis rolls his eyes but he can see flashes in the distance, so he complies. 

After three seconds too long, they part. He hates that he now knows how good Harry smells up close. And how he’s a good hugger. Or maybe Louis just needs to not think about that. At all. 

“Smile,” Harry says through his own smile. It looks so natural on him, Louis’ seen the same smile multiple times. It makes his dimple pop and his eyes shine but after closer inspection, as though Louis’ searching for it, he notices they’re not shining at all. 

He wants to frown, but he smiles too, unsure of its own genuineness. Harry moves to sit down and takes off his coat, so Louis figures his attempt can’t have been too bad. 

“I would’ve ordered you something,” Louis begins to say, sliding into the opposite side of the booth, “But that’s something a friend would do.” 

Unsuspectingly, Harry laughs. It’s open, loud, and Louis feels a flush of something within him, feeling like he just made Harry fully laugh for the first time. 

But then Harry’s leaning forwards, and his eyes turn serious. “Order me an iced coffee.” 

“Iced?” Louis says, leaning forwards inquisitively, recovering from the whiplash quickly, “It’s just about raining.” 

“And we’re being filmed.” Harry reminds him, and his eyes flicker down to where their hands are inches apart on the table. “So make yourself look like a gentleman.” 

He smiles sweetly — or, deceptively so — and briefly swipes his thumb over Louis’ knuckles. Louis decides then and there that Harry could be a sociopath.

“You could be a sociopath.” 

Something glimmers in Harry’s eyes, then, but it could be the lighting or the reflection of a camera flash, and his fake smile grows before he’s leaning back into his seat, an obvious gesture to speed Louis along. 

Louis resists the urge to groan, and orders an iced fucking latte for Harry. As he waits, he subtly looks at him, now glancing at his phone and hidden from the rest of the room. His beanie’s still on his head, and Louis then makes the connection. 

Harry ordering could’ve blown their cover. Or, what’s left of their cover. He wonders why nobody else is affected by these fucking flashes. 

Once he’s presented with Harry’s drink, Louis returns to the table. “Here.” He says, plopping it next to Harry. “I don’t know how you like that shit. Hot drinks should remain hot.”

Harry takes a sip from the straw, putting his phone away. “We have about twenty minutes before we have to leave.”

Louis blinks at him as he sits. “And here I thought that audibly counting down the seconds on a date was rude.” 

Harry holds his gaze. “It is rude.” He tells him matter-of-factly, then allows an actual frown. It’s not as deep as his usual frowns, but a genuine frown all the same. “You really don’t look at your emails, do you?”

Louis can’t help but draw out a long sigh. He wonders if this would be a good time to remind Harry that he is in fact older than him, and lecturing is also rude. He decides not.

“No. Why? Is there some sort of play-by-play sent to me on how to pretend to have a good time?”

“Yes.”

Harry’s sudden answer to Louis’ sarcastic question sort of shocks him to silence for all of a second. Harry takes another sip as Louis replies, “Wait, really?”

Harry holds their eye contact for a moment while he sips, lips wrapped around the straw and cheeks hallowing out just a tiny bit. Louis’ aware it’s for the cameras. Which is the reason he can’t look away. 

Then Harry’s mouth pops off the straw and a drop falls onto his bottom lip. His tongue darts out to lick it up and it leaves his mouth red and wet. The light from the window makes his eyes insanely green. 

“Fake outings happen all the time between celebrities.” Harry tells him. Louis’ attention slides to the window. “The people behind them have got this down to a science.”

The word makes Louis scrunch his face up, “Isn’t that fucked up? Since when do humans have to follow a certain protocol for simple interactions?” 

Harry narrows his eyes, “Sometimes pairings don’t get along, so the chemistry can’t be natural. Protocols are the only way to make it seem like it is.”

“What, with fake laughing and time limits?” Louis challenges, “Isn’t that tiring?”

“You believed Karli and I were together, didn’t you?”

Louis goes to talk, but his voice gets stuck somewhere between his brain and his throat. He did. He did believe it. Was quite cut up about it, if he remembers correctly. 

“Exactly.” Harry says, and when Louis looks at him, his fake smile is out and for the world to see. “So play along.”

.

“I hate him.”

He tosses his keys somewhere on the couch as he enters Liam’s house and goes straight to the kitchen. Liam’s lounging on said couch, but when a very female-sounding yelp is heard, Louis pauses from where he’s just opened the fridge. 

His brows pinch together curiously, and he peers into the next room. 

His eyes widen when he hears Liam muttering something, and a woman sits up from where she was very much not sitting up, and begins to flatten down her tousled hair. 

Before she has the chance to look at who threw the keys onto her head, Louis ducks out of her view and bites his tongue before taking out a carton of orange juice and a glass. 

As he’s sipping it, Liam pads into the kitchen. Shirtless and wearing jeans with the belt undone, his cheeks slightly pink. 

“Well, well, well,” Louis says with a smirk, “if it isn’t Liam. Or should I say, _Lothario_—“

“Shh,” Liam tells him, but is unable to hide his own smirk, “She’s still here.”

“What’s her name?” Louis asks in a whisper.

“S...” Liam trails off, his eyes looking elsewhere as though his highest cabinets have the answer, “Sam?”

Louis lets out a shocked laugh, “You dirty bastard!” Liam’s finger’s on his mouth in a second. Louis takes it and pulls it off, then whispers, “You don’t even know her name?” 

“It’s late!”

“It’s five in the afternoon!” 

Liam looks at him completely puzzled with this newfound information, and Louis can’t help but spill out another laugh. Instead of covering it, Liam blocks his own mouth with his hand, and they’re both laughing in the kitchen.

.

“So, who’s the victim this time?”

Louis looks at him, the two of them lounging outside undercover as they watch the light rain fall from the night clouds. “Hm?”

“The guy you hate,” Liam says, “The one that made you come over here and throw your keys.”

“For the record,” Louis tells him, “I didn’t just come over here for that.”

Liam smiles at him, “I know, Lou.”

“And I really am sorry for interrupting your blowjob.”

“No, you’re not.” Liam says.

“No, I’m really not.” 

He looks at Louis for a second and Louis watches as his smile slightly begins to falter, “So who is it, then?” 

Louis allows a sigh, then rolls his head back onto the chair, “I had my first sighting with Harry today.” 

“Ah.”

“And he’s just so... _right_ all the time.” He explains, “Like, as though _I _couldn’t do anything right. All it was, was us sitting down at a café, yet I felt like there were a hundred and fifty guidelines I had to follow.”

He hears Liam hum, “That sounds exhausting.” And Louis nods. “But maybe he just wants it to all go to plan? He might have a lot riding on this, maybe he just wants to make sure you’re on the same page.”

Louis huffs, “He told me we can’t even be friends, Liam.” They lock eyes, and he sees the shock in there, staring back, “And that I shouldn’t even _try_ to be. But wouldn’t that be fucking easier? If we _did_ try to get along? Like, it’d seem more believable, right?”

“Definitely.” Liam says, looking elsewhere, trying to figure something out. “That doesn’t make any sense...”

“Of course it doesn’t. Nothing Harry Styles ever does make sense. Never has,” He says, then flicks off a small stone on the armchair, “Never will.”

Liam holds his bottom lip between his fingers, “Want me to talk to him?”

Louis laughs, “The last thing I want is for you lot to talk to him. Especially about this.”

“What are you gonna do, then?”

“I’m gonna play along, Payno.” Louis tells him, crossing his ankles, “Do exactly what he tells me to do, let him know that he doesn’t affect me in the slightest.”

There’s an expected pause on Liam’s part, then, “...Are you sure?”

“Yep.” Louis says, placing his hands behind his head, “It’ll drive him _crazy_.”

Liam snorts and shakes his head. “Sometimes I forget how weird you are, then you say things like that and I remember.”

“Oi,” Louis leans over and pinches Liam’s bicep, “Simmer down, mate. Are you forgetting the time quite recently when we were at the Grammy’s and you smelled me with confidence? On the red carpet?”

Liam laughs, then shrugs, “You smelled good.”

“We’re _both_ fucking weird.”

“Mm-hmm,” Liam agrees, giving him his moon-eyed smile, “That’s why I love you.”

Louis chuckles, and grabs Liam’s earlobe with his thumb and forefinger, “Love you, too.” 

They both look out onto Liam’s yard, Louis’ mind filling with recollections of the party. He remembers seeing crowds of people he’s never spoken to before but knows, somehow. Remembers the argument he and Harry had. Remembers introducing Liam to cocaine. 

He looks to Liam. He looks better than a week ago. There’s still some tiredness around his eyes but the spark is back, no longer dimmed. He’s been staying off social media and avoiding the news like he’s been advised to. But Louis worries about him, still. 

“Hey,” He says, soft, “How are you going? With… you know.”

Liam nods slowly a few times, thinking. “Alright, I think. A surprising amount of famous people who’ve been in similar positions have reached out, actually. Given me advice, told me to stick it out, that it’ll be old news soon and another controversy will happen that’ll make me feel like a nobody.” He laughs weakly. “But, y’know. It is hard. That feeling of letting our supporters down… there’s nothing like it. I just wanna do right by them every way I can from now on.”

Louis gives a tight-lipped smile and reaches out, placing his hand over Liam’s and stroking it with his thumb. “Yeah.” Is all he can say, guilt heavily residing within him. 

.

Their next ‘sighting’ is located from 2nd to 3rd Street. Literally. Their one task is to leave from the same car and walk down a street holding hands before entering some random building. 

No thirty minute timeline or protocols. Just a basic, literal walk. 

Or so Louis thought. 

“You can’t look at any of the cameras.” Harry tells him somewhat immediately after Louis settles in the car. 

“Nice to see you too, mate.”

“You can cover your face, but try and smile when you’re doing so.” Harry continues undeterred. He looks fairly nice today, dressed in a knitted sweater with his hair down and curling at the ears. “You have to be behind me at all times. We won’t be able to fit side-by-side with the paparazzi.”

“Stand in your shadow.” Louis says with a snap of his fingers. “Got it.” 

“Hold my hand.” 

Louis absentmindedly turns his head to look out the window, trying to find any cameras. The windows are heavily tinted, anyway, but Harry’s hand is there between them, ready to be taken. 

“We’ve never held hands before.” Harry tells him.

But Louis still draws a blank, “I appreciate the offer, but—“

Harry sighs and takes Louis’ hand. Louis looks down at them, sees the way Harry’s almost engulfs his own. 

“We have to interlock our fingers, like this,” He says, then proceeds to spread Louis’ fingers with his own before slotting them together, “Or else it won’t look romantic, or serious. While we’re walking, if I do this,” Harry squeezes Louis’ hand and Louis’ heart quickens in pace. “Then we’ve drifted too far apart and you need to speed up.” All too sudden, their contact vanishes completely, and he can feel Harry looking at him with expectation, “Got it?” 

Louis swallows, then pulls at his jeans slightly, shifting in his seat, “I think I know how to hold hands and _walk_, Harry, thank you.” 

Harry glances out the window, “You’re welcome.”

Louis snorts quietly, looking out his own window. A hundred and eighty days left. Approximately. Not like Louis’ counting. 

After their first outing, photos were spread everywhere on Twitter, mostly, but obviously tabloids had a field day with them, too. Louis had actually only taken a look online after Nick had messaged him asking: since when were they amicable? And Louis had lied, said they’d clicked at his party. 

But after searching his own name, after seeing a flurry of people excited about their newfound bond, there was also the dark side, the side that Louis had remembered why he likes to forget about the Internet altogether. 

He knew there would be backlash, but he didn’t know it would be directed at _Harry_.

From what Louis read, it seemed like Harry’s own fans were disappointed in him for choosing to hang out with Louis specifically. They said Harry was better than that. Said that Louis’ only using him to be relevant. 

It hurt, Louis’ not gonna lie, but he knows that Harry’s read it all, too. So he wonders why exactly Harry’s allowing this at all. He could still get out of it, the coffee date could’ve either been perceived as romantic or a friendly encounter. But Harry’s continuing anyway despite the backlash. The least Louis can do is be somewhat competent.

A flash brings him out of his thoughts. He looks towards Harry’s side of the car, and sure enough a small crowd of paparazzi are waiting there. 

“I’ll get out first.” Harry tells him, looking out the window. “Then I’ll wait for you and close the door.” He turns to Louis, and his previous determination slightly falters when they lock eyes. Louis swallows and tries to fix his own face, not wanting to make Harry worry. He nods firmly. 

“Got it.” He says.

“It’ll be quick.” Harry tells him. 

Or reassures. It’s hard to say, and Louis can’t dwell on it long enough to figure it out because their security guard who was seated in the front is already opening the door and it’s game time. 

It’s safe to say Louis’ never done a pap walk before. In the days following the Grammy’s, he and the band (mostly Zayn) had been getting attention from passerby’s and press, but nothing to this extent. The sound hits him immediately, the questions almost shouted in an incomprehensible manner and the flashes are unbearable as soon as Harry’s door opens. 

Louis’ immediately transported to the video of Liam outside the club. He really is grateful that it wasn’t him instead of Liam, he can only imagine how he’d react to this kind of scenario whilst high and agitated. 

“Are the rumours true, Harry?”

“Care to clear up any speculation about your sexuality?”

“What happened to Karli, Harry?”

These are the only questions Louis’ able to make out in the mix of intermingled shouts. He controls the frown that’s beginning to appear on his face, frustrated with the genre of questions they seem to care about. 

And then Louis comes into view and the line of questioning stops. It’s almost takes the form of a gasp, leaving them absolutely speechless despite the consistent sound of cameras shooting. 

It only lasts for the briefest of seconds, though, about the same time as Louis shuffles to the side of the car and steps out. The noise picks up immediately from where it left off and he tries to drown it out just like Harry seems to be doing. 

Once out, Harry shuts the door like he said he would, and then turns to Louis. There’s a level of uncertainty written in his expression but he masks it completely, giving Louis a smile instead. Louis follows suit and gives his most genuine smile back. And then they hold hands. 

Walking and trying not to knock any squawkers out with his fist is quite the challenge, he realises. There’s something bloody fascinating about two male celebrities holding hands in public, so fascinating that the questions seem to be hauled at them a hundred miles per minute, reaching a level of volume that almost makes Louis cringe. 

But he doesn’t. He keeps his composure and he smiles at the ground and he doesn’t look at any cameras or faces and he keeps a hold of Harry’s hand. Harry doesn’t squeeze it, but Louis’ holding on so tightly he doesn’t think he could if he tried. 

And then it’s over. Because security open the door for the two of them and they enter the building with ease, promptly blocking out the noise immediately when the door shuts. 

Louis lets out a deep breath, “Fucking hell,” He looks towards where the crowd is still somewhat visible, waiting, “They’re like a flock of hungry seagulls, aren’t they?” 

Harry clears his throat and Louis looks back at him. He’s got an expectant glare on his face. 

“What?” Louis asks. 

“Can I have my hand back, please?” Harry looks down at their joined hands and Louis raises his brows. “The windows are tinted. They can’t see anything.”

“Oh,” He says, and instantly lets go. “Sorry. Yeah. May want that.” He chuckles. 

Harry doesn’t smile back. Louis curses at himself mentally. 

“Joseph will bring the car around the back, so you can sneak out there.” Harry tells him, “None of the paps are allowed there, so you won’t be swarmed.” 

Louis nods to him, “And you?” 

Harry waits a second to reply, almost deliberating whether he wants to or not, “I’m staying here.” 

At that, Louis actually takes a second to see where exactly ‘here’ is. From a brief oversee, it looks like an art museum. A deathly quiet art museum. 

“You booked out this entire place just for you?” Louis questions, walking a bit to keep up with Harry.

He’s inspecting a painting, one that looks quite basic, but probably goes for millions of dollars. Louis’ never grasped the concept of art. How is it that something visible and quite frankly easily made can be sold for a high total of money, yet albums that can be made throughout years aren’t sold for more than twenty pounds? 

Louis keeps his mouth shut, though, sure that Harry would have him kicked out for such a question. 

“There would be no point in coming here if I didn’t have it to myself.” Harry replies. 

Louis blinks, “I mean, we could’ve just stopped off at a hotel or something.” He follows Harry when he walks to the next piece. “Would be cheaper, I’d imagine. And the security would have, like, certain protocols put in place. And you love a good protocol.”

“Hotels would have people assume that we’re sexually involved.” Harry explains. The insinuation makes Louis look away. “We’re not at that stage yet.”

“Yet.” Louis thinks aloud. He thinks it comes out like a question, which is why Harry turns to him, a small frown present. 

“Tell me you’ve at least read the contract.” 

“You mean the contract that used up at least a quarter of the Amazon rainforest?” Louis asks, “Er... No, no I have not.”

Harry’s eyes fall shut and he breathes out. “You might want to.” 

“Why?” Louis says, then strolls a bit further towards him, “I quite like you telling me what to do.”

Harry rolls his lips together and looks at him. They must look like the weirdest couple on Earth, Louis realises. Harry with the good-boy persona and the flowery type wardrobe with Louis who’s half the time dressed in leather with darkened eyes and piercings galore. God, he really is punching above his weight. He doesn’t blame Harry’s fans, honestly. 

He doesn’t blame Harry, either, when he turns around and says, “The car’s here.” 

And their scheduled time is up. 

.

“So he just... tells you what you have to do, and you fucking let him?”

Louis doesn’t know what’s making Zayn sound so amazed — the fact that Harry’s actually willing to explain it all, or that Louis takes it without complaint. There may have been complaints. Zayn doesn’t have to know that, though. 

“Yep,” Louis answers, kicking the ball into the goal. Except it misses and bounces off the side post. “Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. 

“But that’s it? Like, that’s all that happens when you’re together?”

Louis looks at Zayn briefly, leaning against the fence off the oval, near the goal. He’s got a cigarette perched on his fingers and sunglasses on despite the clouds. Louis looks back at the ball and collects it with his feet, travels it to the middle. 

“Seems to be.” Louis replies. “Really certifying the ‘no-friend rule’ he’s created.”

“Yeah, but rule or no rule, it’s a bit fucking snobbish, don’t you think?” 

Louis scoffs as he lines his shot up. “No shit, mate.” He kicks it, but it bounces off the top of the goal. He hangs his head back towards the sky. What is _happening_? 

“What’s he got against you? I always thought you just didn’t like him to begin with.”

“I didn’t,” Louis admits, walking sluggishly to the ball, “But I figured that since he somewhat saved me from Nick’s party and signed a contract to be with me, I’d give it a go.” 

“And have you?”

Louis picks his head up to look at Zayn, “What?”

“Have you given it a go?”

“What do you reckon?”

Zayn levels him with a stare, “No.” 

“What?” 

“You haven’t even thanked him for giving you a lift that night, have you?” 

Louis breathes in, ready to defend his honour. But he fails completely and releases it in a huff, realising his fault. “Why are you suddenly my moral compass?”

Zayn grins, and flicks his cigarette away. He walks towards Louis and throws his arm around his shoulders when they meet. “C’mon, let’s get out of here and get a frozen coke or something.” 

“Mm,” Louis hums, “Maybe you can teach me all the ways to be a better person, too.” 

“Oh, shit,” Zayn tells him, “We’ll need a whole meal for that then.”

Louis lets out a laugh and pinches Zayn’s nipple, “Fuck off.”

“Lesson number one,” Zayn says, grabbing Louis’ hands, “Don’t pinch nipples.” 

Louis struggles out of Zayn’s grip and darts towards the football, picking it up.

“Lesson number two,” Zayn says hesitantly, eyeing Louis’ hands, “Don’t kick balls at people.” 

Louis laughs loudly at the way Zayn flinches when he pretends to throw it, but the remark that’s on his tongue falls flat when it’s interrupted by an unmistakable female squeal. 

He watches Zayn’s eyes widen. Shit. They didn’t even bring security. 

Louis turns his head, and spots an all-girls class out on an excursion. And after making the mistake of locking eyes, the screaming heightens, and it’s like a stampede breaks out before them, running down the nearby hill. 

He looks back at Zayn. They leave one second to stare at each other, weighing their options. And then Louis cocks his head to the side, and Zayn nods.

Then they’re off, running across the oval as their names are being called from behind them, and Louis’ grinning so hard he feels like he can’t see a thing. 

“My lungs, bro.” Zayn tells him, already out of breath. But he’s grinning, too, and Louis slaps him on the shoulder. 

“I know.” He says, then pauses only slightly to scope the area. There’s a canteen over in the far right, roof low and easy to get to. “C’mon.”

He sprints off, football forgotten, and he hears Zayn’s footsteps close behind him, the squeals sounding further away. 

They reach the small buildings and Louis squats down on the floor, ready to hoist Zayn up. But Zayn just looks down at him, and raises a brow. 

“Really?” 

Louis fixes his fringe and looks up, “Wha’?” 

“_You’re_ gonna hoist me up?” 

“You weigh about the same as my left hand, mate, I wouldn’t try the size complex right now.”

Zayn throws his head back with laughter and shrugs, then places his foot in Louis’ hands. Zayn grabs onto the roof as Louis hoists him up, and after a bit of effort, Zayn slides onto the roof. 

He outstretches his hand, “Your turn.” 

“Oh, Zayn.” Louis sighs, leaning up against the wall with a hand on his forehead, “I’m too weak. You... you have to go on without me.”

A squeal is head in the distance. Zayn’s eyes widen, Bradford accent thick, “Loueh! I’m not leaving you!” He lets a laugh spill, then he’s reaching down further, “Quick, Lou-ee, quick!” 

Louis peeks around the corner and finds the girls all huddled, looking around and asking each other where they went. He chuckles into his fist and then takes Zayn’s hand, using the leverage to walk his feet up the wall and join him on the roof. 

They both fall onto their backs, facing the sky. They hear a teacher yelling in the distance, and the students all collectively groan. 

“I swear I saw them!” One of them cries. 

“Which one was it?”

“Zayn, the lead singer.” She says, “And Louis, the one dating Harry Styles.”

“Do you really think they’re dating?” 

“Jess, they were _holding hands_...”

Their voices trail off and Zayn and Louis laugh into each other’s necks. Louis sits up, watching as the girls walk off. 

“Is it usually that bad when you’re out?” He asks.

Zayn shakes his head, “Nah, mate. That was all you.”

Louis snorts, “Hardly.”

He falls onto his back again and there’s a minute of calm. 

Then Louis’ phone chirps and he feels it vibrate in his pocket. 

_Harry:_

_Meet me at mine in 10._

He sighs and lets the phone fall onto his chest. When he turns his head to Zayn, he’s already looking at him, his expression knowing. 

“Well,” Louis sighs again, “Duty calls.”

.

“Why’ve you got leaves in your hair?” 

Louis’ hands fly up to his hair, patting the sides and the back, “Er...”

“Doesn’t matter.” Harry says, stepping aside to let Louis in. Louis drops his arms. “We’ve got a lot to go over.” 

“Go over?” Louis asks, stepping into Harry’s house. “As in...?”

“As in there have been changes to the original plan.” Harry answers, walking passed Louis and sitting down at the circled table near his piano. It’s big enough to dine on, the table, but Louis knows for a fact that he has his own specific room for dining, thanks to his friends’ consistent texts from the dinner party. “There’s been, uh, an unexpected response to... us.” 

Louis pauses from where he was about to sit. So this is about the negative comments, then. Harry’s team have come to their senses and want to drop the whole ordeal, leave Harry to thrive on his own. He’s surprised it took this long, honestly.

“Right.” Louis says, and drums his fingers against the chair, not seeing fit to sit down when he’s just going to leave anyway. “Well, even though it was brief, I think it was nice knowing you, and it was a commendable thing you did for our band—“ 

“Louis,” Harry interrupts. Louis looks at him. “What are you saying?”

“The—“ Louis slowly frowns, then points to him, “Aren’t you letting me go?” 

“Why would I be letting you go?”

Louis presses his lips together. “Because of the negative comments?” 

Harry leans forward on the table and looks at Louis, “Thought you said you don’t use social media.”

Louis scoffs, standing up straight, “Well, s’bit fucking hard not to, since that’s the reason we’re even _doing_—“

“Sit down, Louis.” Harry tells him calmly. 

His head is down and Louis realises there’s an iPad sitting on his lap. Louis sits, albeit a little embarrassed, even more so when he thinks he can spot a quirk of a smile on Harry’s lips. 

Louis really needs to learn how to bite his tongue.

“What’s the unexpected response, then?” He questions on a sigh.

Harry fiddles around on the screen a bit more, and then shows Louis, placing the iPad on the table between them. “It’s been trending everywhere.” He says, and scrolls to where there’s photos of Louis and Harry at the café, on the street, and Louis can see multiple usages of love heart emojis. “Sasha and Fletcher didn’t think it’d get this big.” 

“Right, so,” Louis blinks, locked onto the way Harry’s smiling on camera, so effortlessly natural. He swallows, “So what does this mean?”

The iPad gets taken away and Louis’ forced to look at Harry’s face, a lot less emotive than the one on the screen. “Means that the time factor is no longer an issue. The original plan was to space this out for eight months, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“But because it’s done so well in only two appearances, we can condense everything that we had planned into a shorter amount of time.” 

Louis sniffs, then nods, “Okay. How short is that?” 

“They’re thinking approximately three months.” 

His brows rise. Wow. A cut-down indeed. “A seasonal fling.” 

“Exactly,” Harry says, and his mouth quirks upwards, obviously happy about this substantial change, “They’ve planned it to be that we break up a week after you go on tour.”

Louis hums, “Long distance problems.” 

“Schedule clashes and that, too.” Harry adds. But then he clears his throat and leans back in his chair, “But this also means that we’ll be burning faster than we originally thought, if you know what I mean.” 

“As in, like,” Louis subconsciously brushes his fingers through his undoubtedly windswept hair, and touches a leaf. He picks it up and looks at it, widening his eyes. Had he really thought to not look in the bloody mirror before he came here? He’s dressed in athletic gear too, for God’s sake. He sighs, then returns to his train of thought, “As in, like, the level of intimacy?”

Harry’s smirking at him. He’s amused and it’s clear in his eyes and he’s smirking at him so openly. But then it’s like Louis’ words register and he immediately frowns, coughing into his fist. Louis rolls his shoulders back and tries not to smile. He’s finally caught a glimpse of the Harry his bandmates love. 

“And you’re fine with that?” Harry asks him. 

“What, the intimacy?” Louis asks, levelling him with a stare. Harry nods. “S’just a kiss here and there, innit? There’s no groping or anything involved, is there? I mean, I would be open to it, but I haven’t read the contract, so.”

“You’d be open to public groping?” 

Louis lifts his tongue to the back of his teeth. “Have you met me?” He says, then winks. 

“Unfortunately.” Harry tells him, but for once there’s a slight glimmer in his eye. 

“Unfortunately?” Louis teases with a grin, “_Ouch_, Styles.”

“There will be no public groping—“

“Dammit.”

“—But there _will_,” Harry says, “Be kissing.”

“How many times?”

Harry thinks for a moment, “Six.”

“Six times in three months?!” Louis asks, scandalised, “What are we, nuns?” 

Harry’s mouth twitches, he licks over his lips to suppress the smile, “How many would you say, then?”

“Oh, at least twenty.” 

Air escapes Harry’s mouth, his dimple becoming visible. “Twenty?” 

“We gotta give the people what they want, right?” Louis asks, pointing flippantly to the iPad, “Have a feeling they’d love to see a bit of action.” 

“Well, we can...” Harry shakes his head minutely, then blinks down at his hands, “We can bring that up to PR, see what they say.” 

“And you’d be okay with that?” Louis asks, “Twenty kisses?”

Harry pauses for a second, then sits up straighter in his chair. He nods firmly, “If it’s what the people want.”

Louis’ unashamed when he grins and outstretches his arms. “A man of the people.” 

And Harry actually allows a smile. It’s not directed at him and Louis doesn’t see the whole of it but it’s there when he dips his head and it sends a sort of flurry of achievement in Louis’ chest. 

Then Zayn’s words echo in Louis’ head and Louis finds himself clearing his throat, leaning across the table, hand poised onto Harry’s side to get his attention, “Hey, I, erm,” He glances away but Harry’s eyes are on him and there’s no backing out now, “I heard what you did for me back at Nick’s party... And I,” He locks eyes with Harry, makes sure he’s genuine, “I wanna thank you for that. So, thank you.”

Harry stares at him for a second too long, and then he’s blinking once or twice like he’s refocusing. He frowns a little, “Was my driver that took you home, you know.” 

“Yeah, but,” Louis chuckles softly, leaning back into his seat, “You saw me, and—“

“It would’ve been bad for my image if anyone saw you drunkenly unconscious.” 

But Louis’ already nodding, “I know, I know,” He puts his hands up to his chest, palms outwards, “Quite frankly you could say you just wanted to have me moved because I was dirtying the marble,” He shrugs, then lets his palms fall and slap onto his thighs, “Truth is, I don’t care why. But you saved me from what could’ve been an embarrassing and potentially dangerous situation so,” He shrugs again, then moves his chair back from the table, “Thank you.”

Harry’s eyes have fallen to the floor. His voice is a mumble when he says, “You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t worry, yeah?” Louis says, and the reassurance makes Harry look at him, “I’m not trying to breach into ‘friend’ status. Just tryna be polite.”

“What did you mean before,” Harry says, and it makes Louis pause from where he was about to stand, “When you said that I did a commendable thing for your band?” 

Louis has to think back for a moment. Then he realises, amongst his mindless words, that he’d said it when he thought this was good-bye. He blows out some air and relaxes back into his seat. 

“This.” He says, gesturing vaguely between them, “Like, I get that you have your own reasoning to do something as risky as ‘dating’ me, but you’ve also helped me and the lads a lot on the career front. And, I guess, like,” Louis sniffs, “You didn’t _have_ to do that.” 

“Yeah, well,” Harry says, his thumb and forefinger playing idly with the corner of the iPad, “You’re helping me, too. So,” He locks eyes with Louis, “Fifty-fifty.”

Louis smiles at him genuinely after a moment, “Yeah, alright.” He nods. “Fifty-fifty.” 

He doesn’t know how he’s helping Harry, he’s sure that any other Grammy award-winner on his arm would’ve been just as, if not more, popular as him. But Harry sounds like he means it when he says it, so for the moment, Louis believes him. 

“So, uh,” Harry slides his chair back, “See you at the club in two days, then.”

“The club, right.” Louis says, having no clue what the club is. He really ought to read this fucking contract. “I’ll, er, I’ll see you then.” 

He stands from the table and turns to leave, but doesn’t get far before his name’s called softly. When he faces Harry, he’s looking at him with a smile, and it sends something weird to Louis’ stomach. 

“I’ll text you all the details soon.” 

Louis might have visibly relaxed. It’s unnerving knowing that Harry knew Louis had no idea about their next outing. Somehow also comforting, too. 

And for the third time in one day, Louis thanks him. 


	6. Chapter 6

The boys have all been fitted for their outfits, the colour scheme not varying from their usual black. Zayn’s got on an unbuttoned vest that displays his arms and chest, paired with tight pants and a glittery belt. Niall and Liam are dressed in a more _masculine_ way, as Fernando described it; long-sleeves and undoubtedly expensive pants, but still fitted to their bodies like they usually are. 

Louis’ dressed in a suit jacket. It pinches in at his waist and reveals his chest underneath. It has glittery flecks on it, matching Zayn’s belt, and his electric blue jeans have zips up the sides. His hair’s styled in a way that’s slicked back and off his face, presentable. With the way they all look, Louis imagines this club to be very upper class. His eyes are still decorated in eyeliner, but it’s subtle and neat, much like the red lipstick painted on his lips. 

“Ready to be on our best behaviour tonight, lads?” Louis asks them as they ride in the limo, a flute filled with champagne in each of their hands. 

Niall raises his brows at him, “Are you?”

Louis lets out a cackle, “Fuck no!”

They all cheers and down their drinks. It tastes weird after he’d just brushed his teeth, but Louis smiles through it all the same and pours another round. 

They don’t toast with this one, though. And Louis sips it gingerly.

There’s an urge to drink it all down and use up every complementary bottle in this limousine, hoping it’ll numb the nerves settling in his veins. But there’s also a deeper, larger urge to stay somewhat sober, and it kind of weirds him out. He hasn’t gone sober to a social event in… years, it feels like. It’s probably accurate, he’d even turned up at his high school graduation with a fuzzy mind and blurry vision, fucking off halfway through the ceremony to piss in the lake down near the oval and smoke. 

“How long’ve we gotta stay at his place for?” Louis asks his band in amongst their chatter, his leg bouncing up and down, suddenly wanting to take his mind off of things.

Liam turns to him, “I dunno, mate. Didn’t you get told?” 

All Harry had told him via text was that their ride was to pick them up at six, and for everyone to look smart. Louis glances down at himself, takes in his exposed chest and his thighs that are almost stretching the seam of his pants where zips are holding him in on either side. Harry better be wearing something just as, if not more, revealing than him. 

“Have you spoken much?” Louis asks to anyone who’s listening. 

Chatter sort of dwindles, then Zayn’s asking, “What, Lou?”

He looks up from where he’s fiddling with one of the buttons, and finds the three of them staring at him. “Harry.” He replies. He directs his attention to Liam, “You were exchanging I love you’s to each other at garage rehearsals in the first bloody week of knowing the guy and you’re telling me you don’t have phone conversations every day?”

Liam juts his bottom lip out, almost like he’s thinking about it, “No, actually.” He pulls a face like it’s the first time realising this. “Huh. Not since he started dating you.” 

“‘_Dating_’ me,” Louis emphasises, making quotation marks with his fingers, champagne swishing around in the glass as he does so, “Let’s not forget it’s fake, yes?” He breathes in deep, then, “And really? Nothing?”

The three of them shake their heads. “Why d’you ask?”

“Because, Niall,” Louis says, smoothing a hand over his hair, “I’ve been told the bare minimum about tonight and I’m surprised you all haven’t been filled in completely by your new best friend.” 

He hears Zayn snort, and his shoe extends to nudge Louis’ calf, “You’re stroppy when you’re nervous.” 

“You look fit.” Niall tells Louis, as if that matters. “If I were Harry, I’d be having a hard time keeping my hands off you, to be honest.” 

This makes Louis spiral for a whole other reason. He pins him with a look, “What are you getting at?” 

“I’m just saying, I’m surprised you both haven’t hooked up yet.”

Liam splutters beside him, taking a drink at the wrong moment. Zayn’s paused from where he was pouring another glass, and his brows are raised but his focus is on the ground. Niall looks completely unbothered. And so does Louis, really. 

“_Are_ you surprised?” He pushes. 

Niall shrugs, “Hands down thought you’d be boning by now.”

“Fucking hell, babe.” Zayn says, “Louis only just ended things with Luke.” 

Niall just gestures broadly to the space inside the limo, “More of a reason to, then.”

“It’s _Harry_ we’re talking about.” Louis tells him, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees, “He treats holding hands like some sort of science when he’s with me.” 

“But he also made the first move, didn’t he? Reachin’ out on Twitter and shit.” 

Louis hates that it takes him off guard. 

“Nothing special about that,” He discerns, “Talks to you all the same way, doesn’t he? He’d probably bone any of you if you weren’t straight or taken.”

Liam clears his throat loudly, “I think we’re here.” 

And surely soon after, the limo slows down to a stop. Louis straightens his back, hoping the unsettledness of his stomach calms down. He quickly checks himself again, brushing off any non-existent lint that may have fallen on him during this spotless car ride, and catches sight of his almost-full champagne flute. 

Louis considers just drinking it down quickly, earning that buzz he knows he needs. But before he can, the car door slides open to a quiet area, thankfully without press or cameras or fans, and hair and make up greet them as they step out. 

“Louis, love, turn to me.”

He does, and he gets a fresh coat of hairspray. There’s some light dabs around his eye with a cotton swab, and then her pinky reapplies the lipstick onto his lips. 

“There, darling, right as rain.”

And then he’s being ushered into the place he hasn’t even taken in yet — but the carpet outside is red and the doorway is painted gold and there’s security guards littering the entire section and the whole place is like a flashback — except this time Liam and Niall aren’t bouncing uncontrollably at his sides and Zayn’s not grabbing onto his hand for support. 

They’re ahead of him, Zayn and Niall with their arms interlocked and heads close together as Niall whispers something in his ear, and Liam’s slightly hanging back from them, looking around and waving up high to someone in the crowd who recognises him.

His focus catches to the ceiling, and he’s instantly mesmerised by the hanging chandelier that somehow brightens the entire room. It dances along to the light music, reflections of other’s jewellery bouncing off it and creating a diamond kaleidoscope. It’s stunning.

Maybe he should show up to events sober more often. 

“Louis Tomlinson?” 

Hearing his name so formally from an unfamiliar voice makes him turn with a frown. His instant reaction is to look innocent, but to be sure to have a story on the tip of his tongue to talk his way out of any charges he may face. And it’s fucked that he’s instantly transported back to when he was somewhat struggling on the streets of England. 

Huh. Maybe he _should’ve_ finished that drink.

“Hi,” Says the person that called his name. He’s tall, slightly blonde and smiling at him. He holds his hand out. “Calvin Rodgers.”

Louis blinks at the stranger, surprised to find a normal looking person, then smiles back, “Hi, hi.”

Calvin chuckles as they shake hands, “You look lost.”

“Oh,” Louis says, laughing, “I probably do, yeah.”

“I get it,” Calvin tells him, their hands dropping. “It’s overwhelming. To be honest, I’d have thought you’d be used to these kinds of crowds by now.”

Louis doesn’t disguise his scoff when it comes out, “Are you kidding? Still feels like a weird, abstract dream, to be honest.” Calvin laughs and nods. “I mean, really, can anyone get used to this kind of shit?”

“Most do, sadly.” He replies, “And that’s when they turn to utter snobs. ‘Cause this all becomes normal for them.”

“Jesus,” Louis breathes out, although he knows it to be absolutely true. 

He watches as Calvin has a quick look around, then asks, “Is the rest of your band here?” 

“Somewhere,” Louis says, _and so is my supposed boyfriend_, _apparently_, he feels like adding, “We’ve just arrived and I’ve already lost them to a sea of money.”

He earns a laugh in return, “Wanna go somewhere on the shore, then?” He asks, pointing broadly to the outskirts of inside the venue, “Blend in?”

Louis takes a moment to look at his surroundings. He sees flashes of diamonds in women’s earlobes, sees the glistening of straight, white smiles, hears the endless chatter and pleasantry music intermingling into one. Even Calvin is in a respectable suit whilst the only thing glistening from Louis’ outfit is the embedded sparkle on his jacket. Harry’s probably bloody set him up, put him in some kind of pretentious hell for the laugh of it.

Louis makes a deal with himself to check his emails from now on.

“Yeah,” He settles on, then locks eyes with Calvin who’s waiting patiently, “Otherwise I might drown.”

Calvin chuckles lightly, “Well,” He puts a hand on Louis’ back to direct him to where the tables are situated on the boarders, “We don’t want that, do we?”

They manoeuvre through the crowd and Louis keeps his head down, sure to not gain attention or lock eyes with anyone unwanted. Honestly, he’d really just rather do what he has to do with Harry and then leave without any mindless conversation with the crowd, would rather collect his boys and spend the night in disguises getting drunk in the street. 

But Calvin seems like the least uptight celebrity he’s ever met, and he’s thankful for that, at least. 

“Pardon me for asking,” Louis says once they’re standing around a bar table, “But what do you do?”

Calvin smiles at the question and looks to the floor, “I’m in a band, too,” He says, “Granted, we haven’t had any Grammy nominations, but we’re kind of a big deal.”

Louis’ brows rise in amusement, “Oh, are you now?”

“Yeah,” Calvin runs a hand through his hair, “Our single peaked at number sixty-four in the U.S, so.” He shrugs, “Watch out.”

Louis laughs, liking Calvin’s unashamedness. He’s met far too many people that blow smoke up their own arses for the sake of the industry, but he sounds candid, like a friend he would’ve made back home.

“You know,” Calvin says, looking at him, “I wish I could pull off eyeliner and piercings like you do.” 

Louis flicks his eyes up and down Calvin noticeably, “What makes you think you couldn’t?” 

Then Calvin shrugs, “I mean, I probably _could_,” Louis laughs, “But it’s undeniable that nobody could look as good as you.” 

“He _does_ look good, doesn’t he?”

Harry’s voice startles Louis, but his movements are stilled when he feels a hand rest on his hip, body right behind his own. Something sends through his veins like electricity, and Louis’ so stunned he doesn’t even comprehend Calvin’s put-out expression. 

Louis doesn’t twist to look at Harry, but he knows that he smells incredible — like an indistinguishable swirl of money and power and _confidence_ — which would usually turn Louis off and enable a snide remark, but with the way Harry’s holding him, hand completely over Louis’ hip bone, encasing him in a way that exceeds possessiveness, Louis doesn’t think he could.

“He absolutely does.” Calvin says, the words shaking Louis from his daze. “Harry Styles, I don’t believe we’ve ever met. Calvin Rodgers,” As Harry shakes Calvin’s hand, his body presses further into Louis’ back. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And mine yours.” Harry replies, then squeezes Louis’ hip lightly. 

Louis smirks a little, but then he stills, consciousness finally coming back into play. 

_What if that was a signal?_ He wonders, mind thinking back to their walk sighting, how Harry had explained a squeezing of the hand meant that Louis needed to keep up.

And like a light returning to Louis’ mind, he steps gently out of Harry’s hold and looks at him. For a second, his breath is held in his throat. Harry’s hair’s out and bouncing with curls, earrings competing with the sparkle of his eyes. He’s smiling down at Louis, warm, and although he knows it’s for Calvin’s eyes and Calvin’s eyes only, Louis’ heart still flutters. Fuck. He squashes it immediately. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” He greets. 

Harry gives him a captivating smile, “I fancy seeing you here.”

Louis would gag at the line, but he doesn’t even get the chance to as Harry reaches down, fingertips locating the zip on the outer-thigh of Louis’ jeans. He begins to slowly undo it, revealing the skin underneath whilst holding Louis’ gaze. There’s something different in Harry’s eyes tonight, different to how Louis had left him two days ago. They’re darker, more intense.

Louis almost wants to dare Harry to keep going. 

Calvin clears his throat, causing Louis to whip his head to him and yet again zone out of his trance. Harry looks towards Calvin, too, but his movements don’t stop; continuing to drag down the zipper painfully slowly, teasing, and Louis doesn’t even know who this is even _for —_ he wants to look around, see if anyone’s watching, but then Calvin says:

“Sorry, but are you two, like…” His brow’s raised, and he looks between them suspiciously. 

Louis stands up straighter. 

This will be so weird. It’ll be the first time somebody has announced that Louis’ their boyfriend since He Who Must Not Be Named. Louis didn’t fuck Voldemort, but the guy he _did_ fuck shared the same evil complexities, he’d say. Truth is, he’s forgotten the feeling of someone showing him off as their partner, and even though it’s fake, it’ll be nice to have other people looking at Louis differently, like he _deserves_ to be with someone, someone like Harry—

“Oh, no,” Harry laughs, and darkness washes over Louis’ body immediately, “We’re just friends, but we love each other dearly. Right, Lou?”

Louis suddenly doesn’t know how to act and he’s not even _drunk_. Ah, now this is the Harry he knows.

Why the fuck would he say they’re just friends? That was the perfect opening, the _perfect_ opportunity to announce their relationship. Crowds like this _thrive_ on gossip, speculation would be immediately erased and insiders would have a field day without Louis or Harry even having to give a direct statement.

Louis fixes a tight smile, then knocks Harry’s hand away from where it’s still on the zipper and zips it back up, possibly a little too aggressively. “Yep,” He says, ignoring the way Harry’s looking at him, “Just friends.”

And then it’s silent. 

Honestly, what are they even _doing_ this for, if not for the world to know that they’re together? They went on a coffee date, they held hands on a sidewalk and they’ve been ridiculed online for it — is it all for nothing? Is Harry suddenly getting cold feet? Is he embarrassed? Does he like to hold and touch Louis for the fucking fun of it but can’t admit they’re in a relationship?

Calvin brushes his fingertips against Louis’ arm, then, and Louis realises he should probably stop frowning. “Could I get you a drink, Louis?” 

“_Yes_.” Louis breathes in relief. That’s exactly what he needs. “I’ll come with you to the bar.” Before he leaves, he spares a look to Harry, who’s frowning in confusion. “See you later, _mate_.”

Harry reaches out, “Louis, what—?”

But Louis doesn’t linger. He takes a hold of Calvin’s forearm and lets him lead through the crowd towards the bar. 

Once they reach it, Calvin orders them both a scotch and coke. Louis would personally prefer something less… brown, but he’s too in his head to care, and tosses it back in one go once they cheers it. 

“Woah,” Calvin looks at him impressively, then shrugs, “Alright.” And downs his, too. 

The bartender watches on and asks, “Another?” 

They both nod.

.

He’s drunk. 

He’s laughing into Calvin’s shoulder somewhere away from the bar, somewhere away from the party completely. Louis can still hear the commotion but it’s faint. They’re outside, in the corner of what Calvin had referred to as a ‘beer garden’, but so far there’s not been any beers. Only scotches and cokes. Many of them. 

“You’re a fucking _bastard_,” Louis manages to get out, face squinting from laughter, “Do you know tha’?”

Calvin nudges Louis lightly, “Sod off!” He lets the arm closest to Louis land on Louis’ knee. “I’ve been buying you drinks all night and that’s how you repay me?”

“Calvin, love,” Louis says, somewhat serious, “You ‘aven’t bought me shit. Drinks are fucking _complementary_, here.” 

He’s looked at for a moment, then realisation washes over him. “You serious?”

“Bloody hell,” Louis shakes his head through laughter, “How drunk are you?”

Calvin giggles and he leans back on the bench they’re sharing, the movement making his hand slide slightly further up Louis’ thigh. 

He hasn’t seen the boys since they’ve arrived. Louis doesn’t know if they’ve tried to contact him but he probably couldn’t reply with the way his vision’s fuzzy, anyway. He’s not far, though, so he’s sure if they wanted to find him, they could.

He thinks about returning back to the party, maybe. But he feels happy and his limbs feel so heavy he can hardly move.

“Hey, why don’t we ditch here and go somewhere else?” Calvin suggests after the sounds of their laughter subside, “Somewhere less posh. We could go to a hole-in-the-wall bar and fuck around.”

Louis looks at him for a moment. His eyes are glazed, hair messy from the times he’d run his hand through it. Calvin stares at him, too, his thumb stroking the inseam of Louis’ jeans. 

He directs his attention to it, “Are there _any_ of those bars here in L.A?”

“I don’t know,” Calvin replies with a shrug and a smile, “Guess we can find out?”

“_Louis_, there you are.”

Louis’ ears pick up at the name and the voice, eyes directly locking onto Harry walking towards him. He looks slightly flustered, his pace slowing once he locks onto Calvin.

“Ah, Harry,” Calvin greets, his hand gripping Louis’ thigh a little tighter, “Was wondering where you’d gone.”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “Calvin.” He says, deceivingly pleasant. His focus lock onto Louis, “Can we talk, please?”

“Erm, no.” Louis replies, ignoring the sudden fluttering feeling. “I’m busy. Go talk to your other friends.”

Calvin snorts and Louis laughs with him. 

Then Louis’ arm’s being tugged and he’s suddenly pulled up off the bench, away from Calvin who shouts out something incomprehensible. 

He’s being pulled away from the beer garden and out of the gate to where no people are at all. How large_ is_ this venue?

They stop and Harry lets Louis’ arm go, Louis dramatically steps back into the fence, “_Ow_. Why’d you do that for—?”

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Harry hisses, gesturing to the venue vaguely.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Louis asks, “‘M havin’_ fun_.”

“You disappeared.” Harry tells him, “We have a job to do, and you’ve spent the whole night with… him.”

“Oh, _right_, the job where I’m your friend?” Louis raises his brows, “Can’t’ve been exactly hard to pull that off without me.”

Harry looks to the side, clenching his jaw. Louis leans against the wooden fence for balance. A few cars drive passed in the distance.

“Were you gonna leave with him?” 

Louis blinks lazily at the question. _No_. He answers in his mind. He wasn’t, honestly. 

He shoots for nonchalance instead, “So what if I was?”

Harry groans inwardly, frustrated. “You can’t be flirting with other people when you’re supposed to be with me.”

“I’m not even with you!” Louis snaps, exasperated, “Not in the fake sense and_ definitely_ not in the real sense, but it’s not my fault you introduced me as a friend, Harry. I’m fucking _single_, as far as I’m aware.”

“No,” Harry stares him up and down, “You’re drunk.”

“God, when am I ever _not_?” Louis rolls his eyes, “Is this what you brought me out here for? For a lecture?” He scoffs, then points at him, “Y’know, for a minute there, I was alrigh’ with following your every move, obeying you like a pet. But the fact that you’d rather lie about what we are — even when I remember you _very distinctly_ telling me that we will never be friends in the first place, is just super fucking rich, Harry. Really does well for the ol’ self esteem.”

Harry breathes heavily through his nose, “I was following tonight’s game plan, you idiot. If you cared to read up on it, you’d actually know that.”

Huh. Touché.

Louis still doesn’t believe him.

“Is that a fact?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest, the movement making him stumble a little. He likes to think he looks intimidating. “And what exactly was this game plan?”

“To tell everybody we’re only friends.” Harry begins, then steps closer, “Flirt all night, get cosy. I had a special lounge just for us, secluded but open enough for everyone to see.” Louis’ sure he imagines Harry’s gaze flicking down to his mouth. “Then we’d kiss.”

They’re in complete darkness, nobody else around. Louis’ brain becomes foggier than before. He leans his body off the fence. 

“Prove it, then.”

“What?”

Louis doesn’t know what he’s doing. He steps closer, looks up at Harry with challenge in his eye. “Is it time to clean your ears, Styles? I said _prove_ it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. Louis’ sure that Harry’s seconds away from walking off and leaving the entire event, deeming Louis too difficult to work with and not worth it. 

“Unless you’re a liar, that is.” Louis continues after watching Harry stare at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Wouldn’t be shocking, is all I’m saying. You lie to the public every day, to your coworkers, to your friends. I’d be just another person if you lied to m—“

Louis’ waist is suddenly held with Harry’s arm and his cheek and jaw are braced with Harry’s hand, and he leans in quickly yet with ease, pressing his lips against Louis’.

And. _oh_, okay.

Louis can hardly catch up. He lets out a noise of shock but it’s muffled by Harry _fucking_ Styles. He falls into it instinctively, fingers crawling into Harry’s hair while his other hand grabs at his shoulder. He smells Harry’s cologne and feels his warm hands against him and _god_, yes. 

Louis nudges Harry’s mouth open and nips gently on Harry’s bottom lip, making Harry tighten his grasp around Louis’ waist, pulling them in closer together so their hips align. Louis sighs into his mouth and then kisses him deeper, grabbing onto the strands of Harry’s hair firmly.

Harry groans, then moves his hips against Louis’. 

Then they’re separate. Louis blinks his eyes open in a daze and watches as Harry licks his lips and fixes his hair.

Jesus _Christ_.

“You’re fucking annoying when you talk.” Harry tells him, smoothing out his shirt. 

Ironically, Louis’ lost for words. 

Harry Styles just kissed him. _Off_-camera. And this jean-pant-leather-material thing is not meant for impromptu, alcohol-induced erections, he dully notes. 

“Are you happy, now?” Harry asks him after no response, “Has the ‘point’ been proven?”

Ah. Fuck. Right. 

“Er,” He replies lamely, then tries to squat subtly to relieve his… situation. “Yeah. Very.”

Harry nods, looks to the venue, then back to Louis. “Can we head back now, please?”

“Okay, yeah,” Louis says, then follows as Harry starts moving, head spinning. 

.

“Sit.” Harry tells him once they’re inside the club, and Louis does. 

Harry sits down next to him, close. His voice is low. “We’re only here for two hours, and then we’re making it seem like we leave together. There are people in the crowd already taking photos and videos, and paparazzi will be there when we exit.”

Louis swallows, nods his head. His voice comes out small. “Okay.” 

Harry pauses for a moment, inspecting him. “Drink some water.”

“What?”

Harry looks away, and Louis can almost _see_ him thinking. Then Harry locks eyes with him again and smirks at him, dimple popping. “Is it time to clean your ears, Louis? I said drink some water.” He hands Louis a glass from where it was on the table in front of them. Louis takes it. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He’d taken Louis to the lounge he’d mentioned before. Secluded, but still where people can see them. His lips have the phantom feeling of Harry’s, and as Louis rests the glass against them to take a sip, he glances at him.

Harry’s watching over the crowd, body turned towards Louis. He doesn’t look angry, anymore. He doesn’t look shielded, either, his head bopping slowly to the music. He’d attempted to repeat Louis’ joke back to him, found amusement in it. And Louis wonders whether handing him water was just a way to get him to sober up and not be such an embarrassment, or if it was out of genuine kindness. 

He looks happy, content. And it makes Louis frown. 

“Harry…” Louis starts off gentle, hands cradled around the glass. Harry focuses on him, turning his body impossibly further his way to give Louis his full attention. “Could I…? I know there’s a reason for you not telling me, but could I ask anyway?”

Harry chuckles, the corner of his lip only slightly moving upwards, “I don’t know what the question is if you haven’t asked me, Louis.”

“Why_ are_ you doing this?” Louis gestures vaguely between them. He spots Harry’s mouth twist a little, dropping his gaze to his hands. “You obviously don’t have to tell me, but I just… I find it so _odd_, y’know? You could honestly have anyone in this venue on your arm right now and you’ve settled with _me_ of all people.”

Harry sighs quietly, plays with a ring on his finger. Louis tries to resist and not look at his hands and focuses on his mouth instead. Which might be worse. Hm. He decides to take a sip, his gaze somewhere else completely. 

Surprisingly, Harry starts to talk. “Reputation’s are hard to change in this industry. Once a label is placed upon you, you wear that label, you are that label and it’s hard to, like, _change_ it, get a new one, on your own. And when I first entered the scene, they had automatically told the world that I’m this ‘innocent heart-throb’ who was supposed to be a good role model and a ‘woman-charmer’.” Harry sniffs, readjusts his position, “I got tired of it quite quickly, mainly ‘cause it holds a lot of pressure. Like, if I was caught doing something wrong, the older crowd in my fanbase — like, the mums and stuff — would turn on me, and that really jeopardises a lot in terms of sales. It’s happened before, like, when I’d be out caught with other men. But, erm, now that I’ve reached a point in my career where I’m, like, comfortable enough to branch out of this stigma, I want people to know that I’m capable of maintaining a long-term relationship with a guy. And that it’s not just a silly phase or an act to stay likeable with the progressive younger kids, like they’d once put it before.”

Louis’ slightly mesmerised, if he’s honest. It’s the first time Louis’ ever heard him speak for so long, and his voice is so deep and slow like he considers every word and it almost puts him in a trance. If he were sober, he’d probably joke about how it’s now Christmas and he’s missed his birthday. 

But then Harry’s words actually resinate in Louis’ mind and, “Wait, _what_? They said that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry laughs, “It’s common. The public and the media are still not completely sold on bisexuality. After we announce we’re together I can guarantee I’ll only be gay from now on, according to them.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“And as for why I settled for _you_,” Harry continues, “Well, besides people noticeably liking the idea of us together, it was actually because of your reputation.”

Louis almost chokes on water. “_Mine_?” He looks at Harry incredulously, not even aware he had a reputation in the first place. Or even that _Harry_ was aware that he’d had one. “You didn’t even know who I_ was_ when we met, can’t’ve been that remarkable of a reputation.”

“You’re right.” Harry tells him. His focus is so zeroed in on Louis that he feels like he’s pinned to the couch, unable to move. “But after we were told we’d have to work together, it didn’t take much for me to figure out that you weren’t some kind of cookie-cut celebrity, much like my other options.”

“Ah,” Louis says, raising his brows, “So there were others.”

“Yes.” Harry says, smirk returning. 

“So before you tell me who my competition was, please,” Louis says, Harry chuckling lightly, “Continue.”

“Basically, you were risky. You’re not a safe boyfriend with a perfect track record, you’re from a rock-style band who’d been drunk at the Grammy’s and whose latest scandal involves cocaine.”

Risky. Unsafe. 

Louis swallows. “Right. I know all of this. But why is that a good thing exactly?”

“It completely reshapes my image.” Harry replies. “The public will take me seriously, see that I’ve evolved from this American sweetheart-trope that can do no wrong.”

“Mm-hmm.” Louis rolls his lips together, scoots back into his seat, away from Harry. “So I’m your ‘wrong’, then? Are Liam, Zayn and Niall your wrongs, too?”

“No—“

“Are you only hanging out with them to, what, _mature_ your reputation?” Louis grills him, watches as Harry’s eyes widen slightly, the rest of his body poised, unaffected. For the cameras, obviously. “God, did you go to Liam’s party and invite them all over for dinner so it would fit in with this relationship storyline? Mutual friends to lovers?”

“Louis, look at me.” Harry orders him, slow and gentle. Louis locks eyes with him and Harry moves closer on the couch, letting their knees touch. 

“Answer me.” Louis narrows his eyes, ignoring the shortness of his breath when fingers comes up to tilt Louis’ chin. 

“I genuinely like those boys.” Harry tells him, face impossibly close, eyes large as they look into Louis’. His knuckles trace down Louis’ jaw before he’s cupping the back of his neck. “And I swear I only knew about this relationship when you did.” He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Louis’ lips. He pulls back just to look into Louis’ eyes, “Okay?”

He doesn’t know whether that’s an add-on to his words or if he’s asking for consent, but Louis finds himself nodding anyway, all previous anger disappeared. “Yeah.” He whispers.

Harry leans in again and kisses him deeper this time. Louis kisses him back, fingers coming up to trace the outline of Harry’s abdomen through his shirt. Somehow, all the noise and commotion from inside fades out. The hand cupping the back of Louis’ head drops down to hold his thigh, zipping open some of it so his fingers can lightly touch the skin underneath. Louis shivers. 

“Who dressed you in these?” Harry whispers, his long finger slowly guiding underneath the material, doing nothing to help Louis’ uncomfortable previous-boner.

“Does it matter?” Louis whispers back, mind foggy. 

He sees Harry smile filthily, “S’pose not.”

Harry kisses him again, opening up Louis’ mouth as the entirety of his forefinger disappears underneath the material of Louis’ jeans, the rest of his hand squeezing his thigh. Louis lets out a tiny whimper, and immediately prays that it’s indistinguishable.

It’s just _unfair_. Louis’ so fucking horny and he can’t even get off because they’re in public and because it’s _Harry_. 

It must not be indistinguishable, though, because Harry pulls apart, rubbing Louis’ thigh once and zipping back up before nodding and licking his lips. “Yeah. That should be good enough.”

“Wow.” 

Louis and Harry both turn to the voice. 

It’s Liam. His eyes are wide and so is his smile as he looks between them. Louis flicks his gaze to the left and finds Calvin, mouth twisted to the side and eyes narrowed at Harry. 

“Oh,” Louis says, hating how out of breath he sounds, feeling like he just got defiled. He tries a smile. “Hi, fellas.”

“Good _evening_.” Liam grins, then looks at Harry, “So I see you found him, then?”

Harry laughs, “I did indeed.”

Then Louis locks eyes with Calvin. “Just friends? Really?” Louis deflates, shutting his eyes. “Was good meeting you, Louis. Best of luck with everything.”

“Calvin—“

But before Louis can continue, Calvin’s turning and walking away into the crowd. Louis turns to Harry, watches as a shit-eating smirk spreads across his face, body leaned back on the sofa, using his thumb to wipe underneath his bottom lip. 

Louis slaps him on the knee. Harry flicks his attention to him, unchanged. “What?”

“That was your fault.” 

“Oh, really?” Harry questions, “So you were gonna go home with him, then? If I hadn’t shown up? ‘Cause that’s all he’s really pissed about.”

“I gotta say,” Liam begins, crossing over the V.I.P line and sitting on the couch, “That kiss was very believable. Think it would’ve made front page news, if you weren’t competing with Niall and Zayn.”

Louis jerks his head back, “What?”

“Oh, yeah,” Liam says on a laugh, “They’ve been hooking up for ages now, even got kicked out ‘cause it was getting so _grotesque_.” He chuckles at the word, then his eyes find something and they brighten. “Ooh, champagne.”

Liam picks up one of the complementary flutes as Louis and Harry stare at him, open-mouthed. 

“Liam.” Louis says, pointedly, “Are you telling me that Niall and Zayn are no longer here? Because they were too… what, sexual?”

Liam giggles, then nods. He hears Harry mumble a distinct “oh, my god” next to him. 

“They’re so fucked,” Liam says mid-laugh, “As in, like, drunk-fucked. But also kind of professionally fucked, too.” He snorts to himself, “And _definitely_ physically f—“

“_Okay_!” Louis intercepts. He swiftly takes the champagne from Liam’s fingers and receives no protest at all. Then he downs it. 

Harry clears his throat, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Louis narrows his eyes at him, “Like one glass is gonna screw me.” He places it back down on the table and sighs loudly, eyes up at the ceiling. “All that fucking kissing for nothing.”

“Hey, it wasn’t for nothing,” Liam says with a frown, reaching over Harry to pat Louis’ knee reassuringly, then proceeds in a whisper, “You finally got to know what it’s like to kiss _the_ Harry Styles.”

Louis blinks blankly at him. Harry stifles a laugh with the back of his hand. “Do you really think he can’t hear you right now?”

Liam’s grin slowly falls and he swoops his eyes sideways to lock onto Harry. Harry raises his palms up and scoots further into the couch, “I can’t hear a thing.” He lies. “Please, continue.”

Without further ado, Louis leans over and flicks Harry’s cheek. Harry gasps, and goes to speak, but Louis beats him to it. “When are we leaving?”

“What,” Harry says, “You wanna go now?”

Louis looks around briefly, “No point staying, now, is there?” He locks eyes with Harry, “We could grope each other all we like, it won’t make a difference come tomorrow morning.”

Liam’s brows rise. “You guys were groping?”

“Oh, yes.” Louis says, “Harry here was fingering my pants.”

Liam gawks, then falls back into the couch with laughter once Louis demonstrates the unzipping of his pants. Louis smirks with satisfaction, then watches as Harry’s cheeks turn slightly pink.

“Yeah, and you liked it.” Harry replies, shoving Louis’ shoulder gently, “Don’t lie.”

Louis just scoffs, then stands up from the couch. He walks passed Harry and lightly taps Liam’s shoulder, who’s still laughing. “C’mon,” Louis tells him, “Home time.”

Liam takes Louis’ hand and props himself up off the couch. They walk a few steps until Louis feels his wrist being held. Louis lets go of Liam’s hand and turns back to Harry, who’s looking at him with confusion. 

“We’re leaving together, remember?” Harry prods, “I’ve got a car waiting for us.”

“And leave Liam to fend for himself?” Louis asks, “Quite irresponsible, don’t you think?”

“How about we all go in my car and we can drop Liam off?”

Louis smiles at him, “How about,” He takes a step closer, reaching a hand up to fiddle with the collar of Harry’s blazer. “We all go in your car, and _you_ can drop Liam and I off.”

“Uh…” Harry blinks at him. “Yeah, that’s what I— that’s what I meant.”

Louis can’t help it. He watches Harry’s mouth as he talks, constantly amazed at how his lips shape words and how long it takes for him to get a simple sentence out. 

“Mm-hmm.” Louis replies half-heartedly, nodding twice, “Sure.”

He watches as Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, then, “Louis?”

Louis flicks his gaze up through his lashes to look at Harry. He’s looking back down at him, eyes almost searching for something. “Yeah?”

Harry’s brows squeeze together minutely, “What are you doing?” 

Something washes over Louis, then. Realisation, probably. What _is_ he doing?

He looks out over the club. It’s a lot more rambunctious than when they’d arrived. Louder, too, drunken voices fighting to stay on top of each other, the music competing in addition. Nobody’s probably taking notice of either of them at all, too caught up in their own lives and too inebriated to take note of anything of the sort. 

But Louis just looks back at Harry, and says, “I’m acting.” And lifts up on his tip-toes to press a short kiss to Harry’s lips. 

Harry doesn’t react once they pull apart, just blinks back at Louis. 

“Did you say home time, Lou?” Liam shouts from where he’s walked away. “I swear you said home time, like, are we going home?”

Louis chuckles softly, then lets go of Harry completely. He turns around, “Yes, Liam, we’re going home.”

They leave the club, Harry insisting that they hold hands before they exit. Sure enough, flashes immediately go off as journalists stand there, already waiting like predators for prey. Louis instinctively reaches behind him with the hand that’s not in Harry’s and grabs a hold of Liam’s sleeve, making sure he’s okay as they make a beeline for the waiting car. 

“Liam, why haven’t you made a comment about assaulting the reporter? Are you apologetic at all? And how did you know that minor? Were you aware she was a minor? Liam, do you have a drug addiction?”

Louis squeezes Harry’s hand in frustration, clenches his teeth together, too. Harry just squeezes back. 

“Harry! Any news with Karli? Have you seen her recently? Your fans want to know!”

They bustle into the car and their driver closes the door as soon as they’re in, muffling any questions still being shouted their way. 

God, if Louis were alone and coked up, there’s not a chance he wouldn’t knock out one of them to shut their mouths. 

“_Do you have a drug addiction_?” Louis mocks in the same voice as the pap. He rolls his eyes, “Bloody hell, who would ever fucking admit that if they did? Do they actually think people will stop and answer every personal question they ask?”

“No, they don’t.” Harry replies, hand still in Louis’. “They think it’ll entice people to act out, get emotional.”

Liam agrees, head pressed against the window as they drive off. Louis, in the middle of the two of them, rubs his thumb against Liam’s forearm. 

“Hey,” He asks softly, “Was that okay?”

“Just, like, gave me flashbacks.” Liam admits, shaking his head. “Kinda just pissed I gave them exactly what they wanted. But what they said that night… just threw me off. Couldn’t help it.”

Louis’ brows rise at that. He thought Liam didn’t remember what they had said. He pauses the movements of his thumb, speaks slowly when he asks, “What did they say?”

Liam sighs, then his glazed eyes lock with Louis’. “They asked me… Well, it was the_ way_ they asked. They said ‘Liam, what’s the deal with Louis Tomlinson’s family?’ and it fucking threw me.”

Liam keeps talking but Louis drowns him out, blood rushing to his ears like waves. 

_What’s the deal with Louis Tomlinson’s family?_ He wants to scoff, but is afraid he might vomit. Are journalists really investigating this shit? Are they even interested? Louis supposes they might have to be — the internet will want to know, it has Wikipedia articles to fill out; people_ Google_ this shit, now — but they’d have to dig pretty fucking deep to find any family relations at all. 

Jesus, what a terrifying thought. 

He feels his hand being squeezed, and Louis turns his head to Harry, who’s watching him carefully. “You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Louis replies effortlessly, giving him a smile. 

Harry smiles back, but his eyes still lock onto Louis with suspicion. Louis glances away, only to find Liam dozing with his head on the window. 

Okay, wow. How long had he been out?

“Did you have fun tonight?” Harry asks. 

Louis nods with a shrug. “I think so.”

Harry chuckles quietly, “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies. It’s so silent in the car, the contrast from the club to the press to now is enough to whiplash anyone when they’re sober, so a drunk mind makes Louis catch up slower than normal, actually being able to hear his thoughts. With that, Louis decides to talk. “On one hand, I met a _really_ lovely guy. But on the other hand, _you_ scared him off—“

Harry snorts, “You didn’t even like him that much.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because,” Harry tells him confidently, “You didn’t mention him at all after we sat down, and you didn’t go after him when he was noticeably sad.”

“Whatever,” Louis says, allowing a hint of a smile. He then shifts his position, facing him a little more. “But, also, we went through all that trouble of looking believable, right? Only to be upstaged by my own fucking band.”

Harry laughs, “We’ll still make the news, Lou.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Yeah, page_ thirteen_ or summat!”

Their conversation is interrupted as the car slows to a halt, and the driver announces that they’ve arrived at Louis’ apartment. Liam wakes up naturally from the lack of motion, and says some mumbled goodbye as he opens the door and lets himself out. 

“Well,” Louis looks at Harry, slowly detangling their hands. “I’ll see you, later, then.” He shuffles across the seats. “Thanks for the lift.”

“Hey,” Harry says, making Louis stop. “We’ll make front page, alright? I promise you.”

Louis chuckles, “Alright, Harry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Lou.”

.

The sound of heavy paper landing harshly on a marbled desk makes the four hungover boys groan in annoyance. Louis desperately hopes having unprecedented work obligations the morning after a night out doesn’t become a trend. He can barely even think about how many hours of sleep he managed to get, let alone process why they’re in their public relations meeting room with an angry Sasha for the second time in five weeks. He hasn’t even had time to have a _coffee_, for god’s sake. Where’s that post-Grammy interview etiquette when he needs it?

“Anyone want to tell me how this happened?” Sasha asks. 

Louis decides to look at the newspaper. His eyebrows rise up to his hairline and he suppresses a laugh. On the front page of _The Sun_, a very large photo of someone who is very clearly Niall is kissing intimately with someone who is very clearly Zayn, with the headline ‘Gay Direction: Band members Zayn Malik and Niall Horan steamy with each other all night at club opening — is it love?’ and in the corner, a similar photo of Louis and Harry is shown, telling readers what page to flick to to read more. 

“Ah, page nine.” Louis whispers to himself, “So close.”

“What was that?” Sasha stares at him expectantly. 

“Erm, nothing.” Louis says, waving his hands and leaning back in his seat, propping his foot up on the desk. “Nothing.”

“I’m not sorry.” Niall says, sitting up straight and placing his forefinger on top of the newspaper. “If the world found out this way, then so be it.”

“If the world found out what, exactly? That One Direction’s band mates like to hook up with each other when they’re drunk? That you all just fuck each other when you’re bored?”

Zayn scrunches up his face, “Why would you say that?”

“_Because_, Zayn,” She grabs the paper and shakes it, “This is what the public will perceive it as. I don’t care that the world found out, I care about the fact that nothing about you two has been confirmed yet so it looks insanely manic and, for lack of a better word, slutty. Also, you _cannot_ just get kicked out of respectable parties for indecency like you’re bloody teenagers, alright?” She drops the paper onto the table again and the boys cringe at the induced headache. Sasha rubs her temples, then sits down at the table. “You both will either have to confirm the legitimacy of your relationship, reveal your feelings for each other, you know, just shift the story so people fall in love with your love, instead of assuming that it was a sex-crazed one-off. _Or_, you _do_ play it off as a drunken hook-up and say that you’re only very close friends so you can still keep the details of your relationship somewhat private. It’s up to you.”

Niall and Zayn share a look, then Niall turns to her. 

“We’re not playing it off as a drunken hook up,” Niall decides, “That’s not at all what he is to me.” 

Sasha sighs, then nods. “Keep in mind the entire demographic of your audience will shift, and the speculation and the pressures of your romance won’t be easy to handle. That isn’t a threat, it’s a warning, no matter what you are to each other.” 

“Don’t care, actually,” Zayn mumbles, eyes all Prince-like. It’s fucking irritating this early, especially since Louis feels like he just crawled out of a gutter. “We don’t let anything affect us.” 

Sasha just nods slowly, like she’s thinking about it all playing out, the severity something only she would know through experience. Then she leans back in her chair. “Christ. Three gay men in one band. You’d think I was working for _Brockhampton_.” She hangs her head back slightly and closes her eyes.

“Can I ask why me and Louis are here?” Liam’s hand is slightly raised. If Louis had the energy, he’d whack it out of the air. “We didn’t do anything wrong, did we?”

“No, you didn’t, surprisingly.” She replies, then glances down at her watch. “I actually need you all here for a discussion about a certain change in plans. But we’re just waiting on— oh.” Her eyes shift onto the doorway behind Louis, and she smiles. “Right on time, Harry. Welcome.”

At the mention of his name, Louis twists slightly to look at him. He’s wearing a sweater over his shirt and a pair of jeans, and Louis wonders how he could even be bothered making an effort — his own attire consisting of tracksuit pants and an old hoodie. His eyes are slightly puffy from just waking up but his hair is as perfect as it was last night. And he’s locking eyes with Louis, giving him a sleepy smile.

Louis quickly registers the frown on his own face and relaxes it. How dare Harry look so good when he’d be just as hungover as he is right now. He fixes a smile back, even though he’s only now registered that Harry’s actually here, in a One Direction meeting.

He chooses the seat next to Louis, feeling his gaze on him the entire time. “Hey.” He says, voice low.

“Hi,” Louis says softly, “What are you doing here?” 

Harry’s brows momentarily pull together and his tongue darts out to lick his lips quickly, “Uh—“

“Louis and Harry,” Sasha claims their attention, making Louis look away from Harry’s newly wet plushness. _Plushness_? Jesus Christ, Louis really needs that coffee. “This will only be quick. Basically, it’s time to terminate the contract, the whole ordeal. Louis, your job is done, you’re finally a free man. Harry—“

“Hang on,” Louis lets his foot drop from where it’s propped up on the desk and he sits forwards, head pounding at the movement but it’s more so rattled with confusion, “Why the sudden change? Don’t we still have three more months?” 

“Shorter than that. But, yes,” Fletcher interjects out of nowhere, walking over to stand next to Harry as though he knows they won’t be there long, and speaks to both him and Sasha when he says, “You do. This isn’t a finalised decision.” 

“No, it _is_.” Sasha emphasises, leaning over with her palms on the desk, “This band can not afford three ongoing scandals at the same time. It’s becoming a nightmare. So if I can get rid of one then that’s what I bloody well will do.” 

“So that means you won’t get rid of ours?” 

“Your make-out session is already blasted everywhere, Niall. I can’t make that disappear.”

“What about Harry?” Fletcher asks. Louis doesn’t look at Harry when he’s mentioned this time. He blinks down at his hands. Terminating the contact. A free man. Why isn’t he smiling? “His side of the deal hasn’t been entirely fulfilled, yet.”

“Then let them like each other’s posts on Instagram, have them talk to the press about how much they love each other, it’s that easy. The only reason why I allowed the relationship to firstly be so public was for our end of the deal, for publicity. But we’ve got more than enough of that now, and One Direction’s managers have specifically asked me to keep it down.” She waves a hand, “They’ll be suffocated otherwise.”

“So, just to clarify, you’re telling me that I won’t have to go on anymore sightings?” Louis asks after clearing his throat to dissipate any tightness that may have formed. “We,” He says, and gestures between himself and Harry, “Won’t have to be publicly adorable anymore?”

“That’s right.” Sasha says. 

“But we’re still locked in for three months.” Louis says, and Sasha nods. Then, with an attempt at a smirk, “So... I can’t sleep with anyone in that time?”

“For the love of god, Louis,” Sasha dead-pans, “Please do not sleep with anyone during that time.” 

“Well,” Fletcher says, and it takes a second for Harry to realise he’s talking to him. Louis stares at Harry’s profile, at the ever-present line between his brows. “What do you say, Harry? I see where Sasha’s coming from, you and Louis have built enough momentum and believability to keep this going under the radar, I don’t see why not.” 

Louis suddenly feels like he did when the idea of starting a fake relationship with Harry was first proposed to him. His mind had stopped, if only for a moment, and alarm bells had rung in the distance. Harry had seemed so unreadable then, too. And now they might not ever see each other after this. 

“I do.” Zayn says.

Everybody looks at him. He’s got his eyes on Sasha, but then his gaze flicks to Louis. Something in his expression says he’s sheepish, but Louis understands him too well to know it’s bullshit. 

“You do what?” Fletcher asks.

“I see why not.” Zayn tells him. Louis lets his eyes fall shut, presses his fingers to the space between his brows. There is genuinely no reason for this other than the fact that Zayn wants to be a shit. Louis wants to tell him this, but Zayn happens to continue undeterred. “Like, from an outsider’s perspective I’d be pretty concerned.”

“Oh?” Sasha asks, and Louis opens his eyes to watch her arms fold over her chest, “And in what way?”

“Well, how many public appearances does Harry have coming up? How many band rehearsals do we have? How many cameras are gonna be following any of us around? Like, I’d be suspicious as to why Harry and Louis aren’t with each other for any of these occasions when couples usually are. You’ll probably create more unwanted publicity with the speculation that they’re no longer together than if they were to continue like they have been.” He leans back into his chair and shrugs while Niall tries not to beam at him. “S’just a thought.” 

“I agree.” Niall adds soon after, “I think they should stay together for as long as possible.” 

“You would, Niall.” Louis calls back. “Have you guys ever disagreed on anything before? Just asking.”

“I agree, too.” Liam adds, hand slightly raised, again. “If that counts.”

“_You_?” Louis’ voice goes up a pitch and looks at him in disbelief, “The person who was the most against this whole ordeal in the first place? Why?” 

Liam just smiles, entertained at Louis’ dismay. Harry just sits there beside Louis, stilled.

Bloody hell, Harry probably knew about this whole arrangement before he got here, prepared to leave knowing Fletcher would fight for a discrete relationship instead. That’s why Harry had smiled at Louis specifically, then. A good-bye smile? Is that a thing? His head hurts and he’s pretty sure the pulsing behind his eyeballs is getting worse by the second.

And like a darling little cherry on top of a shitstorm of a sundae, his bandmates are trying to dispute the whole fucking thing, making it seem, for some genuinely unknown reason, like Louis wants to keep it going. This is awful. 

“I disagree.” Harry tells the room.

It shouldn’t hurt. 

Louis’ known Harry’s feelings about this, about him, from the get-go. Shit, Louis’ feelings had been _mutual_. He’d _vomited_ from it. 

Had. Is. Maybe. 

It shouldn’t hurt, but it kind of stings, actually. 

_I disagree_. Of course he does. Who wouldn’t rather an easy road for a publicity stunt if given the option? 

He feels Harry looking at him, and Louis meets his gaze. Harry’s eyes are searching, probably to find any traces of hurt on Louis’ expression. 

Louis clenches his teeth, then says, “I do, too.” 

There’s silence in the room for a moment. He hates that he knows what his friends are thinking as they look at the two of them. 

“Uh,” Sasha says, blinking like she’s trying to comprehend something. “Well, it_ is_ ultimately up to you two. In a way.”

“That’s not what you told me on the phone, Harry. You have the option to do what you want to do, so.” Fletcher reminds him. Louis immediately looks over. He watches as Harry swallows. Louis frowns. “Are you sure?”

“If we don’t have to prolong this anymore than we need to, then we shouldn’t.” 

“Right.” Louis agrees automatically. He points to Harry lamely. He can’t wait to have a cry and then nap for five years. “What he said.”

“I mean,” Harry turns to him, then, his face open, eyes cleared. He looks at Louis as if he’s taking him in, sending waves in Louis’ stomach, “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not.” 

But it doesn’t come from Louis. It comes from Niall, blurted out like a sudden thought in the form of a hiccup, almost. Attention pins him, and Niall’s eyes skitter the room, determinately not looking at Louis. 

“Care to elaborate?” Sasha asks. Louis fights an inward groan. 

“Just.” Niall stills, then looks to Liam, “I think the more scandals the better? You hardly see anything negative about Liam these days, I’ve been searching.” 

“So have I,” Liam admits sheepishly, “Even though everyone told me not to.” 

“Same.” Zayn adds. “I say we add more, if anything.”

“_More_?” Sasha questions, scandalised, “And what could you possibly suggest, Malik? An impromptu concert in the middle of Town Square with Liam sniffing a line and drumming out a beat as you propose to Niall? How about Harry making a grand appearance in nothing but a mankini while we’re at it, and he can swoop Louis up into a kiss _Dirty Dancing_-style in front of a crowd of thousands?” 

Harry hitches out a surprised laugh, most likely impressed with her creative imagery. 

“Would definitely go down in history, that.” Liam points out. 

Zayn hums in agreement, “Don’t think that’s ever been done before.”

“Be honest, Sash.” Louis says, squinting his eyes with a grin as he points at her, “Has that been an ongoing fantasy for you?”

Niall laughs, then adds, “No, seriously, though, that’d be good publicity, too. No scandals. And actually kind of wholesome, you could say.”

“What_ I_ can say,” Sasha tells him, “is that you’ve all completely lost your fucking minds.”

“You know,” Harry suddenly appears close to Louis’ ear. Louis pauses completely, breathing included, and all other sounds of everyone talking drowns out. “I only said we should stop because I assume you wanted to?”

Louis looks at him, their faces closer than he’d anticipated. It’s kind of torture, now, knowing what kissing him feels like.

He looks sincere, and Louis scoots his body in his chair to create some distance, “Why would you think that?”

Harry shrugs, “I thought you always wanted out as soon as possible. And, like, before, when you asked if you’d be able to sleep with anyone…”

Louis’ face relaxes completely, and he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth tilt up into a smile. “That was a joke, Harry. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep with anyone the moment they said this would originally last eight months, remember?”

“Oh,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Yeah. Right. Of course. I’m definitely still hungover.”

Louis hesitates for a beat. Then, “Do _you_ want to keep this going?” 

“Yeah.” Harry admits, quicker than Louis expected. “I do.” 

Louis breathes in an unsteady breath and suppresses a grin. He ignores the tidal waves in his stomach completely. “Okay, then. It’s settled.” 

Harry does not suppress a grin, and it makes his sleepy eyes glisten. Fucking hell. 

“Worked for Miley, didn’t it?” Niall tells the group.

Right. Meeting. 

“Babe, we’re not shaking our asses at an awards ceremony.” Zayn clarifies, as though it could be an actual possibility. “Especially since we’ve already drunkenly accepted our Grammy recently.” 

“Gee,” Sasha says with no emotion at all, “I’m so glad you realise _that_ was unacceptable.” 

“Ehm,” Louis clears his throat, “Harry and I would actually like to continue as a fake couple. Like, as we were.” 

Louis determinedly doesn’t look at anyone else’s faces except for Sasha’s when he says it. But the hi-five threesome out of the corner of his eye is extremely hard to miss. 

“Fine,” Sasha says, worn down with weariness. “I was afraid you would say that.” 

“...Why?”

Sasha kneads her temple with one of her knuckles, “If we terminated the contract, this is the part where Harry and David would’ve been able to leave and we’d discuss the next part as a band. However, since you’ve decided to keep _going_, well. Harry, dear, you’re part of the packaged deal, now.” She clasps her hands together and Louis frowns in confusion. “Basically, your demand in America has gained interest for a few other countries and we’re looking to possibly expand the tour, add more locations. This was supposed to happen later on down the track, but since _this_ ordeal has pleasantly come up, we agreed it will be better for Zayn and Niall to do their own tell-all interview with someone back home. _So_,” She points to Harry tiredly, “You’ll be joining them in the UK for a week. You’re all flying there tomorrow.”

He feels his eyes bulge out of his head.

.

Louis had spent his day after the bombshell had dropped doing everything short of begging for him to not go back to London. But apparently it was the perfect opportunity for some promotion and it’s a good way to explain the seriousness of his and Harry’s relationship — because apparently, when you travel together, you’re practically married — and it’s also a good time to get the heat off their backs from the insanity that is Los Angeles press. 

So Louis had lost, in short, and had to come to terms with the fact that he’s not only returning back to where he’d rather never be, but he’d also be going there with Harry. 

And this would be a normal feeling, if Louis had still felt the _same_ towards Harry. It was easier when they hated each other, he realises. But now he just hates the way Harry smiles at him, privately and not a camera in sight. He hates how Harry looks at him with so much focus as though everything Louis says matters. He hates how he remembers the way Harry’s hands were on him, hates that he wants it every time they’re close to each other. 

And now they _are_ close to each other; in the car taking a ride to where a private plane is supposedly taking off. Louis’ sure he’s going to wake up any second now. He bets it’ll be when he falls from a great height someplace and jolts before he hits the ground, opening his eyes to find himself transported back in their little shitty tour bus with Niall strumming his guitar softly, Zayn attempting a crossword and Liam flicking up jelly beans and getting them in his mouth every time. Louis shakes his head at himself as he stares out the window. They’re not supposed to _do_ private planes. 

The car goes through a tunnel, and with the blackness of outside Louis spots Harry’s reflection in the window. He’s still got his headphones in, body turned towards his own window. He’s been like this after Louis had gotten into the car and they’d greeted each other. Louis’d thought he’d just been tired. Turns out, really, that he’s just acting twattish. 

Harry Styles is peculiar. And irritating. 

Louis watches him for a second, waits to see if Harry notices and finally looks at him. He doesn’t, though, and Louis latches onto the hair-tie Harry’s playing with between his fingers, bopping it lightly, assuming it’s in time with the music in his ears. 

Louis snatches it from his grip. Then flicks him on the thigh with it. 

“Why are you doing that?” Harry asks, blander than what Louis was anticipating. 

“Doing what?” Louis says, then proceeds to flick him with the hair-tie once more.

Harry moves further away in his seat, covering his thigh with his hand, “_That_!”

“Oh, why not, Harry?” 

“It’s fucking annoying.” He rubs at his thigh idly, “And it hurts.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Well, you’re no fun right now, so you’ve brought it on yourself.” 

What else is Louis supposed to do? Sit there quietly the entire time while nerves duplicate and manifest into energy he can’t control? Absolutely not.

Harry eventually sighs, then turns towards Louis. 

Good.

He watches as Harry’s gaze lands on Louis’ oversized sweater, the comfiest thing Louis owns. His eyes scope down to where Louis’ fingers are fiddling with the hair tie, the rest of his hands hidden from the sleeves. It’s when Harry’s eyes are locked onto Louis’ naked legs, when he asks:

“So you flick people?” 

Louis tilts his head at the question, “Huh?”

Harry clears his throat and he looks up to meet Louis’ gaze, “Uh. I mean, like, when you don’t get attention. You,” He gestures lamely to his own leg, dressed in black denim, “Flick people.”

“Yes, Styles, I suppose I do.” Louis looks him up and down purposefully, then sets his fingers up, “Want another one?”

As a reflex, Harry clutches the spot he’d already been flicked, “No.” Louis smirks, fingers still poised with the band ready to fire. “_Alright_, I’ll give you attention.” 

“Finally.” Louis sighs with exasperation, drooping against the seat.

Harry looks at him, “You know you could have just started a conversation with me instead.” 

Louis stares at him like he’s stupid, “And where’s the fun in that, Harry?”

“Where was the fun in _this_?” 

Louis shrugs, “I had fun.”

“Can you stop aiming it at me? It’s like a weapon.”

Louis looks down at his hand, then after contemplation, lowers it to his lap. Harry breathes out, then takes his hand off his leg. They aren’t far from each other, and from here, as Louis’ hands rest, it’s easy to imagine them linking up with Harry’s, like they were two nights ago.

And— whoa. This is _not_ what he’s allowing himself to do now. 

He finds Harry’s eyes zeroed in back onto Louis’ exposed thigh, and a rush of adrenaline flows through him, wondering if he’s thinking back to the club night. He retaliates by leaning closer, and snaps the elastic band against Harry’s arm at full force. 

Harry gasps at it and covers his bicep with his hand, “_Ouch_.”

“Serves you right.” 

“For _what_?”

Louis doesn’t have an answer. He tries to attack again, but this time Harry’s prepared and he catches the hair-tie with his fingers. Harry grins at his own feat and Louis huffs, trying to take it back but Harry’s grip is too strong. 

“Let go,” Louis tells him, getting his other hand to try and pry Harry’s off. 

Harry laughs at the struggle, “Not a chance.”

“_Harry_.” Louis emphasises. 

“_Louis_.”

“You know that I’m definitely stronger than you.” Louis tells him matter-of-factly as he struggles.

Harry watches him calmly. “Prove it.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Louis darts his fingertips into Harry’s side, causing him to let out a yelp and let go of the weapon. 

Louis stares back, pleased.

“That’s _cheating_!” Harry exclaims, gobsmacked.

“It’s _smart_.” Louis corrects.

Harry zeros in on the hair-tie in Louis’ hand, and lurches forwards to grab it. Louis quickly moves backwards towards the window, almost squealing as he props a knee up to shield himself from Harry. But Harry’s visibly larger than him, and he uses it to his advantage, crowding over Louis, and uses one hand to hold Louis’ wrist against the window, the other hand to try and yank it out of Louis’ fingers.

They hear their driver clear his throat, and all movements stop. 

Harry looks down at Louis and feels his heart momentarily hit pause. Louis’ fringe has fallen out from his beanie, covering his eyes slightly, but he continues to look up at Harry, still grinning as his knee is rests lightly against Harry’s stomach.

Louis’ bare knee, that is. All while Harry’s got a hold of Louis’ wrist, pressed up against the window. Over a fucking hair-tie.

_What am I doing?_

Harry must think the same because he clears his throat and backs off swiftly, realising that they’ve reached their destination.

“So I won, then?” Louis asks without missing a beat. 

“Yeah, you won,” He replies, distracted, and it’s followed by him opening up the car door.

.

Harry boarded the plane before everyone else. Louis had watched him go, frowning slightly. Had he missed something?

But shortly after, Louis becomes preoccupied with meeting up with Niall, hearing him carry on in delight and excitement at the sight of the private plane. 

Niall boards the plane before Louis and the other boys, leaping up the stairs with energy Louis could merely dream of, honestly. He climbs the stairs slowly, turning around once to find Zayn and Liam still down near the cars, talking and taking photos on their phone. 

Once Louis steps on board, he’s handedyet another complementary champagne. Louis briefly considers if it’s been long enough between his last drink to have one. He’s trying to be good. But then he glances down the aisle and spots both Harry and Niall with one in their hands. 

Louis grins at the hostess, “Thank you very much.” He tells her, taking the glass and heading down the plane, overhearing the conversation. 

Something makes Harry chuckle slightly, and he says, “Really? You don’t like your house?” 

To which Niall scoffs. “Apartment, really. And not at the moment, no. Sort of thought this American deal was only a short-time thing so I bought the cheapest shit I could find.” 

“You could always upgrade.”

“I’m used to small spaces,” Niall says with a shrug, “But this just looks classier.”

At this, Louis settles into the alcove in front of Harry, but sits so he’s facing the two of them and scoffs, “When have you _ever_ cared about classiness?” 

“Since I hopped on a mother fucking private plane, bitch.” 

“Holy shit.” Liam says loudly in awe from behind them. “And I thought the outside looked good.” 

Zayn’s behind him, wide eyes and looking around in wonderment. “How long’s the flight again?” 

“Ten and a half hours.”

Harry’s just as shocked as Louis is when they realise they just answered at the same time. 

Niall laughs loudly, “Aw, you’re not even completing each other’s sentences, you’re _saying _each other’s sentences.” 

“Jinx.” Louis tells Harry.

But Harry’s shocked for another reason. “You actually read the itinerary?” 

“The what?”

Harry’s nose twitches. “The itinerary. The one that was sent for this trip?”

Louis’ pulls his mouth down to one side, then shakes his head, “Nope. I Googled how long it takes from L.A to London in the car just before.” 

Harry just inspects him for a moment and then clenches his jaw and looks away. Odd.

“So, babes,” Zayn starts to say to Niall, walking by and squeezing his shoulder. “How about we join the Mile High Club?”

It’s Liam who pipes up, “_No_,” He looks between Zayn who’s smirking and Niall, who’s eyes are already filled with wonderment. “I already had to sit through a whole car ride being the third wheel.”

“C’mon, Payno!” Louis says, face scrunched as he leans across and taps Liam’s arm, “When else will they have the opportunity to fuck in the air?”

Liam’s brows rise, “Uh, when we fly back home?” 

Louis’ bottom lip juts out. “Well. Can’t argue with that.” 

.

After one two many glasses of champagne, Niall and Zayn mysteriously disappear.

Liam’s fallen asleep in his chair next to Louis, head back with his mouth open, snoring softly. Louis considers placing his finger in his mouth just to wake him up, have someone to talk to, but he also knows how precious sleep is for Liam these days, so he decides to be a wonderful friend, and leaves him. 

He stands up and stretches his body, raising his arms up to the roof of the cabin. He feels eyes on his back, and Louis smiles to himself before relaxing and turning around, sure enough finding Harry already looking at him. 

After they’d taken off and had a little party, Louis had been more and more certain that something was bothering Harry. It can’t have just been the fact that he’s been taken away from his home and sent to London, because Harry’s absolutely fine to everyone — except Louis. 

Louis walks over to him and flops down into the chair besides Harry with a sigh. He turns his head to look down the aisle, still no sign of Zayn nor Liam, and turns back to Harry, who’s watching him expectantly. 

“D’you reckon they’re really gone off to shag in the bathrooms? Or do you think it’d be more so a mutual blowjob-type thing?” He watches the way Harry’s brows move towards each other. Louis continues. “‘Cause I don’t think there would be enough room for an actual fuck-sesh, right? Like, I went in there before and imagined it. It’d be so fucking awkward. But I s’pose it’d be like any old public bathroom, wouldn’t it? That’s easy, then, I’ve done that before—“

“That’s not really…” Harry looks away frowning, then shakes his head, “That’s not exactly the greatest visual.”

“What isn’t?” Louis asks, “Zayn and Niall fucking? Or me with some random bloke in a public bathroom?”

“Neither.” Harry speaks on top of Louis, “Neither’s good.”

“Aw,” Louis coos before tapping Harry’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “We’ve all done it! Surely you’ve done it once in your life, right? Back when you were a teenager, girl or guy.”

Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lips quickly, “Is that what we’re doing, now? Playing twenty questions?”

“Personally, I’m just conversing.” 

This brings a light chuckle out of Harry, then he adjusts his position in his seat, facing Louis. “So, you _can_ do that and not flick me instead.”

“Is this an invitation?”

Harry backs away slightly, eyes scoping Louis up and down, “Absolutely not.”

Louis just laughs and slumps back further into his seat, reclining it but keeping it upright enough to still look at Harry. “Right. So.” He clasps his hands together and places them on his lap. “What’s the protocol for London, then? Anything wild?”

“Erm,” Harry scratches at his nose, “Not really? We’ve gotta go on an outing, just the two of us. Kind of like our pap walk but… extended. And, erm, you’ve just gotta mention me in interviews. Like, boast about me. And I just have to show up to all your photoshoots and commitments, that kind of thing.”

“Sorry, but did you just say ‘boast about me’ with a serious face just now?”

Louis’ looking at him as he sits up despite the reclined seat, and Harry splutters out a laugh. 

“That’s what it says!”

“_Right_, Harry. As far as I know, you’re just taking advantage of my lack of curiosity and making shit up because I won’t know better.”

“I like how you say lack of curiosity and not lack of diligence.”

Louis gasps, then reaches over to pull a strand of Harry’s hair. “You take that back.”

“No.” Harry says through a smile, hand over the spot where Louis tugged. “Not until you put on some pants.”

“I’ll have you know that I _do_ have pants, Harry.” Louis tells him, then proceeds to lift up his sweater to reveal the bike shorts underneath. With his other hand, he lifts the bottoms of one leg before letting the elastic snap back down. “They’re just shorts, see?”

Louis looks back up to find Harry’s gaze focused on Louis’ thighs, just like how they were in the car on the way to the plane. This time, Louis doesn’t flick him. He feels hot underneath the stare, Harry’s eyes almost glazing over, pupils expanding. 

Jesus. Are there enough bathrooms to go around, here?

“Uhm.” 

Louis turns to the sound, finding Zayn standing near Louis’ seat, eyes on Harry with a confused expression. His own eyes look glassy, lips red.

“Hello.” Louis says. 

“Did I, like…” Zayn watches as Louis lets go of his sweater, material dropping. “Interrupt something?” 

“No.” Harry tells him. Louis looks back at him but Harry’s staring down at his phone. “Louis was just getting back to his seat.”

Louis’ brows rise. Well, then.

“Yeah.” He says, stepping out. “I was. How was the blowjob?”

Zayn’s expression changes immediately, a grin appearing. “Great, thanks.”

Louis snorts, tapping Zayn on the back. He has no idea where Niall is; possibly making friends with the kitchen staff. Louis sits down in his own seat, still utterly puzzled at the boy sitting behind him. 

But it’s too much when he’s already feeling a hangover and he’s thirty-five thousand feet up in the air. So he reclines his chair, folds his body up, and closes his eyes. 

.

_November. London._

London is just as shit as he remembers it. 

The weather, the people, the culture, the architecture, the everything. It’s always been shit, but the feeling is accentuated when he’s jet-lagged, hungover and surrounded by people who speak with nothing but excitement towards their hometown. He feels like a complete grouch, hanging back from the group when they walk, hardly looking up or contributing when they all get driven to their hotel. 

He listens to Liam telling stories that they all would remember, hears Niall insisting they should all revisit their favourite places when they get the chance, and watches as Zayn explains the best parts of London to Harry, who’s noticeably bright-eyed and absorbing everything with a wide smile. 

Louis thinks he’s gotten away with blending in the background, wallowing in his own shadow of self-pity, until he’s outside the hotel by himself having a smoke while the rest of them get their check-in’s sorted, and Harry joins him. Louis firstly assumes it’s to tell him to come back inside and get his key, but instead he leans up against the same wall as Louis, and waits for a moment before he speaks. 

“So,” He says, “You don’t seem too happy to be revisiting.”

Louis flicks off some ash and looks away. “Why would you assume that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry shrugs. “You just don’t look as excited as they all are to be back home.”

Louis unintentionally grits his teeth together. He looks up at the blackened sky, breathes in the last puff of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground. He stomps it out with the bottom of his shoe. 

“That’s ‘cause it’s not home.” 

He leans off the wall and walks inside the hotel, deciding he’s ready to just get the key to his room and piss off to bed before having to spend an entire week here and play up to however many cameras to convince everyone he’s enjoying it. 

He’d left here for a reason, is the thing. He’d blocked off this part of his life, hoped to never be back here. It’s where he grew up, sure, but he didn’t _grow_ here. He was stunted, prevented, fucking… abandoned. He grew outside of London more than he ever could if he stayed. There’s no way he’d call this home. 

“Louis.” Their manager, George, appears. The theory that the guy’s a vampire who never sleeps proves to be true every minute, especially since it seems like he definitely did not just get off his own plane. “Good to see you. Here’s your room key, bunking with Harry Styles. You don’t have any commitments tomorrow, so feel free to—“

“Rewind.” Louis interrupts, holding a hand up. “Bunking with whom?”

“Me.” Harry answers, walking up to them. Like it’s fine. He looks to the hotel staff that are smiling at them from the desk, then back to Louis. He places a hand on the small of Louis’ back and smiles at him. “Because we’re a couple. Right, babe?”

Right. Makes sense. Still fucking sucks. 

“Lovely.” Louis says, taking the keys from George. Louis stays silent as he walks towards the elevator, Harry still beside him, hand warm on his back. It’s not until they’re alone in the elevator when they create some distance. Louis doesn’t look at him when he says, “What room are the other boys?”

“Zayn and Niall are in nine hundred and two.” Harry replies. “Liam’s in nine hundred and three.”

Louis tilts his head back onto the wall of the elevator and closes his eyes. He’s not looking forward to spending the week with Harry in a _couples_ room. There has to be some boundaries, guidelines, anything. If Louis’ not able to spend any time alone, and if Harry continues to be somewhat annoyed with him for whatever reason, then he’s sure they’ll both drive each other insane. 

Once the elevator stops, Louis marches out and down the hall. Harry stops at their room, but lets out an audible sigh as Louis keeps going until he ends up outside Liam’s door, knocking repetitively until Liam’s there, grinning at him before Louis walks passed and sits on Liam’s bed. 

“What are you—?”

“I’m staying in here with you.” Louis replies. 

“No, you’re not.” Harry sighs yet again as he enters, surprising Liam. 

Louis groans loudly and falls back onto what has actually got to be the most comfortable bed he’s ever felt in his life. He’s still annoyed. 

“Why not?” He desperately asks the ceiling. 

“Staff will know if we’re not sleeping in the same room. It’ll create unwanted rumours. We’re supposed to stay somewhat low-key.” Harry answers. 

“Hotel staff have confidentiality agreements.”

“Word can still get out if it’s noticeable that there’s something weird about us.”

“Then,” Louis drops his arms out, half star-fishing, “Let them just assume we’re having a blue. All couples do it. We’d be _normal_. Like every straight couple in bloody existence.”

“Did you not just hear me?” Harry pushes. Louis rolls his eyes. “We’re supposed to—“

“Stay low-key.” Louis completes. “Yes, god, I fucking know.” 

The room is silent for a moment. Louis shuts his eyes, obviously aware that Liam and Harry are looking at each other, probably having a silent conversation above his head, but Louis just hopes aliens appear and he gets beamed up into a life that’s not his own. 

“Lou,” Liam’s sweet voice says, the mattress dipping down beside him, a hand petting Louis’ hair. “It’s alright, yeah? It’s only for a week and you’ve shared beds a lot smaller than these before with a lot more people—“

“I can sleep on the floor.”

Louis opens his eyes at that. He sits up on the bed, looking at Harry. He looks back at him, serious. 

Louis blinks. “You’re not gonna sleep on the floor. If anyone should, it’s me.”

Harry tilts his head to the side and frowns deeply, “Why?”

“Because_ I’m_ the one bloody complaining, not you.” He rubs a hand down his face. “And I’ve had my fair share of floors, my back’s used to it. It’ll be fine.” He waves his hand noncommittally in the air. “Think I’m just— exhausted.”

“I get it.” Harry says, frown disappearing. He comes over to sit on the bed, too, Louis in the middle of the two of them. He wonders how they’re not even squished, the bed bigger than Louis’ entire childhood room. “And, like, maybe we can sort out a roster to use the room? As in during the day and that so we can actually have alone time and get out of each other’s hair?”

Louis feels himself smiling, and his heart warms a little. He’s so thoughtful. Even when Louis’ being a brat. 

“Yeah, Harry. I’d like that.” He locks eyes with him, “Thank you.”

Harry smiles, too. “For what?”

“For just, like,” Louis breathes in slow, then exhales in a rush. “Being understanding. I guess.”

“Anytime.” 

They say their good-night’s after Harry decides he’ll have a shower and go to bed first while Louis stays to chat with Liam for a bit. He can feel Liam’s stare as soon as they’re alone but Louis decidedly ignores it, opting to find the remote and turn the television on. It lands on Dutch news, and Louis uses the channel button to flick through programs, wondering how many shows rich people can afford to broadcast. 

“You’d think with an ariel this large there would surely be some kind of sports on here.” He says, continuously landing on foreign networks. 

He hears Liam sigh, then the remote’s being taken from Louis’ hand and the television’s muted. 

It lands on _Antique Roadshow_. “Interesting choice, Liam. I mean I know you’ve just had birthday, but you’re not this old—“

“Louis, I honestly thought you were okay with Harry now.” Liam tells him, staring at Louis with something like guilt. “That’s why I… Are you not, anymore? Because I’d rather you cancel the contract now than continue. We all would.”

“_Liam_,” Louis turns to him, places his hands on both of Liam’s shoulders. “If it was bugging me enough to cancel, I would have done so when given the option. Stop _worrying_.”

Liam bites the inside of his lip, not entirely convinced. “Then why are you annoyed with sharing a bed?”

“Honestly…” Louis shakes his head and drops his hands to the mattress. If he had to think about it, like _really_ think… “I don’t exactly know where I stand with him. He’s not a fan of me, exactly. Is he? So I guess I’m more frustrated that he’ll have to tip-toe around me like he does already, but more solidly and for an extended amount of time.”

“He definitely likes you.” Liam tells him.

Louis laughs. “You think everyone likes me. And you’re always wrong.”

“Everyone _does_ like you.” Liam emphasises, making Louis laugh even more. “You’re the one that wrongly believes that everyone doesn’t. And Harry does. I saw the way he was the other night. Searching for you and being with you.”

Louis shakes his head again and fiddles with the blanket. “No, it’s all professional, everything. He’s not a novice at this, Liam, everything he does with me has some sort of benefit for himself.” He looks back up at him, “Did you know he only agreed to being with me because I was the unsafe and risky option? Like, those were my appealing qualities. And it’s all to help with redefining his image.” He sees the way Liam’s expression slowly changes into extreme confusion and somewhat disgust. “So, no, I don’t think he likes me as a person. He only likes me for what I can do for his career.”

“That’s bullshit.” Liam utters.

“Yes, well.” Louis shrugs, “That’s the industry we’re in, I s’pose.”

Liam processes it, the lines in his forehead deepening as he thinks. Then he asks, “Do you like him?”

_No_. Would have been Louis original response, before everything. Before Harry had kissed him when they were completely alone. Before he had smiled at him genuinely. Before he had opened up to Louis, if only a little. Before he had compromised with him. Before Louis had gotten to see the glimpses of who Harry really is. 

“Yeah.” Louis admits. “Yeah, I do. I’d like him more if he wasn’t such a _twat_, but. You boys like him, so I s’pose I’ll have to give him a chance.”

Liam smiles at him knowingly. “Alright, Lou. Come here.”

Louis falls into his hug and they stay that way for a second or two before Louis separates himself and wishes him goodnight. Then he leaves the room and makes his way down the hallway to door nine hundred and one. He knocks on it softly but the light is out and when he hears no response, Louis uses his key card to open the door and step in, finding the shadow of Harry’s figure tucked up in their bed. 

The bathroom is massive — way larger than it has to be — and Louis takes a quick shower, hoping it’s not too loud, before quietly taking one of the many pillows from the bed and one of the spare blankets. The couch has a slight curve in the weirdest possible way, making it impossible to lie down and be comfortable. And after the shower, Louis has no energy to try and shift the couch cushions off onto the floor without waking Harry, so he parks himself onto the carpet near the foot of the bed and places his head on his pillow, falling asleep to the sound of Harry’s snores. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello... first of all i'm so so sorry for the delay in updating i honestly didn't think many of you would be reading this so here's an extra long chapter to hopefully make it up to you :-) 
> 
> a little bit about scheduling: uh. there is none? i'm truly trash but i've changed a lot with this fic and it'll take some time for it to be finished unfortunately, so pls don't be disappointed when it's not updated every week ahhh 
> 
> i also do not have any editors for this work so apologies for the 3rd time if there's any errors! i hope you're all enjoying this so far & thank u so much for the kudos and comments, i love u. xxx

Harry had woken up to find Louis asleep on the floor.

He’d originally assumed he was back home in his own bed at first, stretching out with his eyes closed — but then he’d recalled the long journey the day previous and he stilled — blinking open his eyes and hoping he wasn’t infiltrating Louis’ space. But the sheets were cold and not slept in.

He had risen onto one arm and looked around, finally finding Louis located on the floor at the foot of the bed, lying on the carpet with only a spare blanket and pillow, body curled up with his fringe falling softly over his eyes.

Harry now stares at him for a moment, then sighs. He pushes his hair back and looks out the window to where the sun streams in, dawn only just arriving.

He slowly makes his way out of bed and pads across the room to his bag, making sure his movements are quiet while he rustles through it. He picks out the first pair of jeans and shirt he finds and makes his way to the bathroom.

The first thing he notices when he looks in the mirror is the way his hair’s completely gone disarray from sleeping with it damp from the shower last night. He attempts to tame it with his fingers, then gives up and bunches it all up to tie it in a bun with his hair tie.

His hair tie. The one that Louis had obtained somehow and proceeded to annoy him with it to get his attention. Who _does_ that?

He focuses on brushing his teeth to rid the thoughts of Louis’ naked, tanned legs underneath his sweater, and ends up spitting out the toothpaste with more force than necessary. He changes into his clothes and leaves the bathroom, finding Louis still in the same position.

He considers waking him up to tell him that the bed’s free, but Harry’s kind of scared of how he’ll react. Is he a morning person? Does he scratch and bite if someone disturbs his sleep? Does he really hate Harry that much he’d rather sleep on the floor?

_I’ve had my fair share of floors, my back’s used to it._

Harry frowns down at him. There’s something to be told about the complexities of Louis Tomlinson. He wonders if anyone has ever figured him out.

The loud shrill of Harry’s ringtone startles him into action. He leaps over to where it’s charging on the bedside table and answers it without looking at the caller I.D, briefly flitting his attention over to where Louis’ sleeping and finding his brows pulled together, eyes still shut. Fuck.

“...Harry?” The person on the other line asks.

“Yeah? Who’s this?” Harry whispers back, watches as Louis shuffles his face further into the pillow.

“It’s Zayn. Thought you had my number?”

Harry blinks, “Yeah, I do. Sorry.”

Zayn chuckles. “Did you just wake up? Buffet breakfast is almost over if you guys wanna eat.”

Almost over? Harry pulls his phone away to look at the time. 10:30AM. He glances outside again, what he thought was dawn is really mid-morning. Ah, London.

“Alright.” Harry whispers, “Thanks for letting me know, I’ll be down soon.”

“And tell Louis to wake the fuck up!” Niall shouts.

They hang up and Harry instantly looks over at Louis. He almost drops his phone when he finds eyes already staring back at him.

“Morning.” Louis mumbles, rolled onto his side, head still on the pillow. Harry pointedly doesn’t look at where the blanket clings to Louis’ body, outlining his figure.

“Good morning. Sorry about the—“ Harry points to his phone, “Uh, the rude awakening.”

Louis brings a hand to his eye and rubs it, his mouth tilted into a smile. “S’fine.” He drops his hand and it’s silent when he takes Harry in, eyes scoping him from head to toe. Harry is sure not to fidget from the attention. How’s he even intimidating when he’s sleepy and below him? “You look like you’ve been awake awhile. ‘Ave I overslept?”

“Oh. No, I... I just woke up not long ago, too.” He watches as Louis nods, then stifles a small yawn behind his hand. Harry should get going. He should. “You didn’t have to sleep on the floor, you know.”

Louis blinks up at him, bleary eyes clearing, only for him to roll over onto his back and close them again. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know.”

Harry takes in a slow breath. He looks to the door. “I know.”

He waits a moment, then looks back down again. He meets Louis’ slightly quizzical gaze, and then Louis changes his expression into something neutral. “Going somewhere, then?”

“It was Zayn who called,” Harry tells him, “Says if we want breakfast from the buffet we should head down there now.”

“Breakfast, eh?” Louis asks, voice thick with sleep, “Tell the boys I’ll be here sleeping, yeah?”

“Okay.” Harry says. Louis shuts his eyes and turns over, facing the wall. Harry presses his lips together and makes his way across the room, towards the door. He opens it, but pauses to look back. “You should try the bed, it’s a lot comfier.”

Harry can hear the prominent smile in Louis’ voice when he says, “Goodbye, Styles.”

.

Buffet breakfast turns into an impromptu tour of London.

Harry had suggested that they wake Louis up and ask if he wants to join, but his band mates had reassured him that it’s definitely not something on Louis’ to-do list. 

He spends the day attempting to grasp at what Liam gushes over, catching onto what Zayn explains and gathering his thoughts every time Niall pulls him somewhere else. He tries to do all that — but his mind lingers on questioning why they would all be so energetic about visiting home when Louis would rather spend the day locked inside. His mind lingers on Louis’ cold expression, _because this isn’t home, _he had said.

He’d never once spoken badly about his own home in California. One of his favourite past-times is revisiting his town and his old house, especially with his mom and his sister, reliving what it was like growing up there. But with Louis… the reason why he would be so bitter about his own hometown would be either that he hadn’t had a very good upbringing, or that he’s dramatising for the sake of being difficult. It’s hard to know which, with Louis Tomlinson.

They reach a souvenir shop, the boys telling Harry that he should buy the most insignificant thing and take it back with him so he can remember London by it. He picks up a bobble headed Queen figurine and Niall cackles as he walks passed.

He stares at the head as it wobbles. 

Harry personally can’t believe that Louis would rather sleep on a hard floor than in the same bed. Does he truly hate Harry that much? 

He knows he _did_, but that was at the beginning. The hatred had been returned and it was an understanding that they’d never get along. But recently, Louis’ so hard to read it’s infuriating, he’s hot and cold with Harry with every passing moment, and Harry’s not even sure how to approach him anymore. 

It used to be easy. Harry would be indifferent, treat Louis like a time-passer, unbothered with pleasantries and Louis would treat him the same. But now they’ve gone passed that. Yet they’re still not exactly… friends. They’re friendly. 

But then again, _are_ they friendly? Liam had said that Louis’ shared smaller beds with a lot more people before, yet he’s disgusted with the idea of sharing a king sized bed with someone he’s kissed before? And Harry knows he liked it — the kissing. If there’s one thing he’s experienced in, it’s that. Harry _excels_ in pleasure.

“Harry,” Zayn says in a soft voice, coming up beside him. Harry turns to him and gives him a smile. “You’ve been staring at this bobbing Queen head for a while, now. Should I be concerned?”

He’s smiling at him, but Harry only thinks he’s half-joking. He lets out a laugh and places the figurine back onto the shelf. “Um, I’m alright. Jet-lagged, I think.”

Zayn nods, understanding. He suggests they leave the store, and Harry follows.

He’d gotten to know Zayn when he’d gone over to Harry’s house for dinner. With Niall and Liam, Harry’d immediately become attached, the both of them incredibly easy to get along with. But it wasn’t until his dinner party when he’d found Zayn just as funny and kind. He hates that Louis had second guessed Harry’s genuineness when it came to the band, because Harry’s never faked it with these guys. Them, Nick and Ed are the only people in the business where he doesn’t have to put on an act for.

Once out of the store, Niall whistles for their driver and tells him to drive to their high-school. Harry’s eyes widen. 

“Won’t there be a tonne of fans there? Isn’t that dangerous?” 

“Relax, Styles.” Liam tells him, “Apparently it’s a pupil free day today. So it’s completely empty.” 

Harry nods, then looks out the window as the car drives passed buildings and roads. 

They make it to the school which is on the outskirts of London. It’s not as upper-class, Harry notes, as the central London he’d just been in. It’s a rather dull-looking school, not similar to Harry’s in the slightest. 

Back in California, Harry was enrolled in the private sector, with tennis courts and theatres — and as they leave the car and approach this school, he’s quick to see the difference. There’s unfinished paint jobs, graffiti on the walls and benches, lone rubbish stashed in the corners. _Don’t they have cleaners?_ Harry questions to himself.

The boys lead Harry inside through the corridors. He scopes the area briefly, looking at the posters and lockers and framed photos. They all stop at a class photo, framed up behind some glass and a few medals. Niall, Liam and Zayn all point, talk about how young they looked. Harry leans in, spots the three of them. Niall had platinum blonde hair — “surprised I even ‘ave any left!” — Zayn had a huge fringe, covering half his face and Liam looked much the same, except his body was smaller, less defined. Then, as Harry lets his eyes wander, he lands on the front row, a familiar face staring back at him

“Wait,” Harry says, pointing to the teen in the photo dressed in all black with a similar haircut to then-Zayn’s, looking at the camera like he doesn’t want to be there, “Is that Louis?”

“Yeah,” Niall snickers, “Wouldn’t sit still that day, swear the cameraman was gonna kill him.”

“Did he…?” Harry’s brows pull together, “He graduated?”

He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked at the prospect of Louis Tomlinson getting through high school. For someone who despises authority, structure and has a certain aloofness about him throughout every day life, Harry can’t imagine him doing all the work and showing up to class in order to pass. He was sure he’d have been a drop-out.

Louis’ life was hard to find before high school. Information becomes fuzzy, then. The rest of the band’s family tree and online presence were somewhat easy to scope, but Louis’…

“Sure did.” Niall says, making Harry turn to him. Zayn and Liam are somewhere else entirely, and Niall grins at him. “Louis had one of the highest marks out of all those people there.” He places a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “He’s a smart kid, our Lou.”

Harry turns back to the photo. 

“Hey,” Niall says again, then taps Harry’s side. There’s a spliff in his hand. “Wanna smoke?”

They head outside, Liam and Zayn already ahead. Niall lights up as soon as they reach the grass, and they all settle at a picnic table, Harry’s head filled with questions. 

They pass around the spliff once before Liam spots something in the distance. He gets up to grab it, then bounces the soccer ball on his knee with an amazed expression. Niall hops up immediately with a clap of his hands, then races up to Liam before they make it to the oval, kicking the ball to each other. 

Zayn remains with Harry, taking a drag before handing it to Harry once more. His eyes land back on Niall, tiny smile playing on his lips. 

“It’s nice to see you both like that, you know.” Harry says, “In love.”

Harry takes a drag and Zayn’s smile grows. He looks down at the table, shakes his head.

“Never thought I’d be, to be honest.” Zayn tells him, “Always thought I’d go through lovers like cigarettes. Even in high school.”

Harry nods as he blows out the smoke, then hands it back over to Zayn. “I was a hopeless romantic in high school.” He chuckles lowly. “_Hope_ being the definitive word. Lost all of that when I left, I think.”

“Mm, reality hits you fast when you leave.” Zayn agrees, inspecting the joint before taking another short drag and stubbing out the remains onto the table. “But you shouldn’t lose hope. Romantics are rare, we need more of those.”

“Can say that again.” He says, looking around. The oval’s quite miniature, the grass uneven and some patches are filled with dirt instead of grass. “Don’t think I’ve ever met another one besides you guys.”

Zayn hums, then says, “Louis is.”

Harry can’t help the tiny snort that escapes him. Zayn’s eyes find him and Harry clears his throat, not willing to expand on it. Seems like all of Harry’s preconceptions of Louis Tomlinson have been wrong. 

As well as discovering his background, his managers had also told Harry everything there was to know about Louis and his love life, his track record. He hadn’t had one boyfriend, girlfriend, _anything_. But people who knew him knew that Louis was a one-night-stand extraordinaire, even that Luke guy was merely physical. 

Harry knows he himself is a romantic. He wears his heart on his sleeve. He falls fast and with everything he has. Louis, on the other hand…

“Harry,” Zayn says with a sigh, “I know you think that Louis doesn’t…” He waves his hand around idly, “care, about anything, a lot of people assume that. But he does, yeah? He just, like, shows it differently. And believe it or not he cares about you—“

“Ah,” Harry cuts in, shaking his head, “You don’t have to, like, justify him to me.” He laughs a little, but Zayn just stares at him. “We’re not dating for real. He can do whatever he likes. As long as he keeps his part of the deal, I’m happy.”

Harry feels like he’s lying. He feels like Zayn knows that he’s lying. Maybe that’s the paranoia from the weed talking. 

“Okay.” Zayn says. Harry smiles at him. Zayn gives one back, but Harry can just tell that Zayn’s letting him have this, letting him say what he likes without dispute. It makes Harry feel worse, somehow. 

He stops the leg he didn’t know was bouncing, then fiddles with his bottom lip with his fingers. Zayn’s looking out at the oval again, watching Niall and Liam laugh and wrestle. Harry feels like his head may explode. 

“I just— I don’t think I _get_ it.” He says on a breath, making Zayn’s brow quirk up. “Like, he drinks all day, right? But he cares about his career enough to volunteer himself for damage control? He doesn’t familiarise himself with the stunts we have to do, but he was the smartest guy in school? He says that London isn’t his home, but it is. And his family… what, doesn’t exist? Anywhere?”

“Who told you that?” Zayn asks, suddenly sharp.

“It was the… um, the press. The one that Liam got mad at? They said—“

“Right. He told you.” Zayn sighs, smoothing over the line between his brows. “Don’t talk about it.”

Harry blinks. He nods. “Okay, I won’t.”

“As for everything else,” Zayn’s jaw clenches as he watches Liam and Niall making their way back over. He settles on Harry’s gaze, “He deals with things differently, like I said.”

Harry stares at him. _Differently_? Like passing out at a party from drinking too much, differently? He almost says it, his foggy mind almost reaching his cotton-mouth. But he thinks better of it once Niall’s laugh echoes through the air. 

He sniffs, then leans over the table. Zayn’s still looking at him, waiting. Then Harry asks, “Do you ever worry about him?”

He wants to know if Louis’ behaviour is normal, or if it’s a cause for concern. He doesn’t care much for Louis, honestly. But the last thing he’d want is for his first serious ‘boyfriend’ to be lost to drugs and alcohol and rehab — or worse. 

Zayn takes a beat to answer. “Every day.”

Harry swallows, digesting the seriousness in Zayn’s eyes, in his words. They look at each other, the tension rising, until Liam and Niall flop down on both sides of either of them, and Zayn looks away, leaving Harry to realise the severity of it alone.

.

Louis’ not in their room when Harry walks in.

The floor is unoccupied and the bathroom and balcony are empty. But the blanket and pillow Louis used are still on the floor and his bags and clothes are moderately thrown across the place like he’s claimed it.

Harry walks over to the bed and finds the side he didn’t sleep on still untouched, but he wonders whether he’d kept the duvet tucked on his side, or if Louis had slept on that side too, since it’s now half off the bed.

Harry lies down on the mattress, surprisingly tired from walking around all day. 

After visiting the school, they’d gotten back into the car and decided to get some drive-thru food. Harry had yawned loudly accidentally, and that was that. Liam demanded they go home immediately, much to Harry’s amusement. 

Zayn hadn’t said anything more to Harry after their conversation. 

Harry had a million and one questions, but he knew Zayn wasn’t the person to ask. Niall and Liam weren’t, either.

He lets out a small groan. The door opens just as Harry shuts his eyes.

“Oh.”

Harry glances over to find Louis stopped at the doorway in surprise, mouth formed in a circle, dressed in a tracksuit and an oversized jacket, holding a paper cup with a tea label hanging out of it. He still looks tired.

Harry offers him a smile, “Sleep well?”

“Er,” Louis says, stepping into the room and letting the door fall shut behind him. He makes a so-so gesture with his hand and follows it up with a sound. He walks to where the T.V is and props his bum onto the table, facing Harry, “Always hard when it’s not your own bed, innit?”

“Did you sleep in the bed?” Harry asks him pointedly, sitting up.

Louis levels him with a stare, a curious tint in his eye, “You would be such a caring mother one day.”

Harry’s laugh comes out in the form of a splutter, and when he recovers he looks at Louis and cocks a brow, “Would only be fair to carry on the tradition.”

Louis actually smiles at the ground. He brings the tea up to his lips, but looks Harry in the eye when he says, “Your mum’s a good mum, then?”

“The best.” Harry says without hesitation. Then something bitter hits the back of his throat, realising that family territory is obviously not something he would have thought Louis would like to discuss, considering. Harry scratches his nose briefly, tentatively, “Don’t think there’s a moment I don’t miss her. What about yours?”

“What’s her name?”

“Anne.”

“Make sure you tell Anne that I think you’ll be a great mother one day.”

Harry laughs again, then shakes his head. He watches as Louis crosses the room and sips his tea, unplugging his phone from the charger and looking through it aimlessly. Harry’s curiosity burns through him. But Louis’ obviously the master of deflection. 

He clears his throat, scoots across the bed slightly, closer to Louis. “She doesn’t know about us, actually. That it’s a, um, secret.”

Louis looks up briefly from his phone, “She doesn’t?”

Harry shakes his head, taking off his shoes. “Didn’t think she’d need to be involved in all of this... celebrity-politics shit. Would drive her mad, trying to understand it all, I think.”

Louis nods as his focus lands on something behind Harry’s shoulder. “Smart.”

“And you?” Harry tries just as Louis directs his attention back to his phone, “Does your family know?”

At this, Louis chuckles. “No, definitely not.” He doesn’t expand on his answer, and Harry only has time to crinkle the skin between his brows before Louis’ pinning him again, “Your mum will find out, you know. She’ll see something on the news or someone else will tell her.”

Harry knows this. He shrugs, oddly taken aback by Louis’ response. “She knows not to take anything the news reports say about me seriously. I’ve had plenty fake relationships, isn’t shell-shocking.”

His laugh falls flat when Louis’ expression doesn’t change, all but the narrowing of his eyes, “You really do have this thing down to a science, don’t you?”

The question makes Harry think of the first time he was asked to “just meet up with the lady for lunch, think of it as a two-way favour,” and all he remembers was how nervous he had been. He thought he’d fuck it up somehow, thought people would be able to see through the bullshit. But it worked. People spoke about him, spoke about her. It really was an easy favour, a quick shot of publicity in the cocktail of stardom. Her fans became his fans and vice versa. So, when he was asked a second time to go on multiple sightings, he hadn’t questioned it. He kind of thrived off it, made the most of it. Press tours had been (and still are) his least favourite part of the job — interviewers asking insane questions, sitting through the most brain-numbing segments, having to give practiced and rehearsed answers — and if he had the chance to limit it by fake-dating, then he would take that chance every time. It wasn’t until his faux relationship, the one before Karli, was so torturous it almost broke him.

He’d fallen in love. She was a Brazilian actress; one that was starring in a movie that hadn’t been released yet but was sure to be successful, sure to help Harry exponentially. He thinks she was the first woman he’d ever loved, actually. A not-so-gay awakening, he’d called it. He wrote his award-winning album after her, raved about her to anyone that would listen, and the reaction towards them as a couple was the best he had ever seen. Eventually, on a date he had organised purely by himself, he asked her to be his girlfriend, a real one. And she had laughed in confusion, told him to stop joking around. She’d said no, and explained that everything they shared had been fake, it was for cameras, for her fame. Then the contract ended and they never spoke again.

Karli was the one who taught him to distance himself in this industry, especially if it’s set-up. “Celebrities are the most selfish beings on this earth, Harry. They have power within their pockets and an unfathomable amount of influence amongst the people. Imagine what they could do with something like love.” And since then, Harry’s kept his guard up.

_We’re not going to be friends, Louis._

“It has to be.” Harry finds himself answering, voice a little rough from the memory. There’s a downward tilt to Louis’ mouth but Harry ignores it, looking elsewhere. “Or else it won’t work.”

Louis hums. “Yeah. So you’ve said.”

“And I meant it.” Harry tells him. He feels tense, feels Louis’ eyes on the side of his face. Harry gives in and meets the gaze, one where his indifference saddens him.

Truth is, he can’t go through an Adriana-scandal again. He can’t be hurt like that. It was _stupid_. Harry’d fallen in love with falsities, unable to distinguish her acting from reality. It’s what Louis had said at the club, as his hand was on Harry’s collar, his eyes looking through lashes — “_I’m acting_.”

Harry realises it, now. He needs to kill the curiosity. 

“I believe you.” Louis says after what feels like a lifetime.

“Good.” Harry nods, looking away. 

_We’re not going to be friends, Louis._

“How was London, then?” Louis asks, “Underwhelming, I’d imagine?”

Harry lets out a small sound, toeing off both shoes onto the floor beside him. “Better than a hotel room, actually.”

A crack of thunder suddenly sounds outside, rain following. Louis’ eyebrows immediately rise, then he thumbs towards the window. “Wanna repeat that?”

Harry laughs and Louis actually brings a smile. He looks less tired, now, smile lighting up his face. Harry looks down at his own socked feet.

_I can’t fall in love with you._

.

Killing curiosity doesn’t get any easier.

Day two is worse. Day two is so much worse, actually, because it consists of not only the previous night being an entirely sleepless one — what with Louis finally agreeing to share a bed, which proceeded with Harry being kicked every half hour and Harry not wanting to fall asleep in fear of waking up in a compromising position — nor merely an interview for One Direction, but also a photoshoot.

Tagging along, Harry had obliviously assumed that ‘photoshoot’ meant the boys would be standing in front of a white backdrop; the day consisting of a few group shots and maybe a single shoot for each.

What it ended up being, rather, is some kind of erotic pool party _fantasy_, complete with bubbles and blow-up toys and everything Harry would imagine being in a homoerotic porn calendar. He had to question what company they were shooting for exactly, and if this was even their correct profession. But he was answered with “this kind of thing is normal for One D” by the set directors, and Harry had gawked. 

He’d remembered when Louis had shown up at his house for a stunt meeting, and he’d just come from a photoshoot. He remembered the pants that looked like they were held together by pieces of ribbon tied together, trailing all the way up his legs, and the shirt — although it wasn’t exactly a _shirt_, more like a piece of material that barely covered his chest — which exposed both nipples. And his piercing. 

But Harry’d come to the conclusion that that would have been one of their more concealed photoshoots. Since the one he had witnessed today was on another level entirely.

Niall and Zayn had been the first to come onto set, both in swimwear, Zayn with somewhat comedic arm-floaties since the fans apparently all know he can’t swim. Liam had been next out, and Harry had shamelessly stared longer than necessary at Liam’s shirtless and clearly defined chest. And it was fine. A pool party. Harry’s seen shirtless men before. 

But then all thoughts had stopped once Louis walked onto set.

Looking down at himself with a disgruntled expression, Louis had appeared with spandex bike shorts that cut off mid-thigh and clung onto his body like they were painted. He was shirtless like the rest of them, but he had suspenders attached to the shorts and over both his shoulders, tattoos decorating his body and piercings glistening underneath the heavy lights. 

He’d heard a crew member whistle lowly before nudging Harry in his side, “You’d never get bored of that, would ya?”

He doesn’t even remember what reply he formulated. Just continued to watch helplessly as the four boys played with the toys, blew bubbles to each other and sat around posing as the cameras caught every shot. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Louis, though. Despite hating what he wore, he’d lapped up the attention better than anyone Harry had ever seen. He knew his angles, knew how to move his body, pulled on one of the suspenders slightly while he sat slouched back in one of the plastic chairs, making Harry’s dry mouth water somehow.

Louis must have known everyone was staring at him. It showed with how he held himself, how he grinned, how he’d look into the camera with wide, faux-innocent eyes. Harry almost wanted to stop the photoshoot and take Louis backstage, shield him away from everyone watching. 

_This is normal?_ Harry had thought in disbelief. He made a mental note to look up One Direction photoshoots when he has the time. He’d had the time _then_, but… Louis.

And now he’s here, still on the same set, One Direction in front of the camera but this time they’re dry and dressed head to toe, giving an interview.

Harry’s still in the back, watching, but he’s kind of railed from witnessing something he’s sure was made purely from his own imagination — seriously, there was no way that was fucking real — and when he starts to doze off, he hears his name.

“You and Harry Styles, how’s that all going?”

Harry sits up in his chair, finds Louis’ eyes lock onto him straight away. A thrill sends down Harry’s spine. They’ve been here three hours and that’s the first time Louis’ noticed his whereabouts. Had he known Harry was sitting here the whole time?

“It’s been great,” Louis replies, eyes back on the interviewer, “Really great. He even joined me and the lads over here in London, which is really nice.”

“Yes! I’ve seen pictures!” The interviewer exclaims happily, “It must be so lovely for him to see where you grew up. Have you shown him the best parts of London, yet?”

Louis smiles easily, “Yeah, a few places, yeah. It’s just finding the time, really. But we’re all really excited to be back for the first time since the release of our single. Since, as you know, it’s been a while since we’ve been back.”

With the subtle swerve in subject, the interviewer takes a hold of it and starts to talk about their quick success from the single. Louis finds Harry’s gaze again, and this time Harry gives him a smile. Louis’ face remains impassive, and he doesn’t look back at him for the remainder of the interview.

.

“You’re quite the fucking starer, you know.” Louis confronts him once they’ve made it back to the privacy of their hotel room, slamming the door and causing Harry to stand still as Louis corners him. “For someone who treats this shit like a science, you sure love to look.”

“I—I’m sorry?” Harry stammers, unsure how to answer at the unexpected outburst. “Am I not allowed... to?”

“Is it part of it?” Louis asks.

“Part of what?”

“Part of the _thing_, Harry.” Louis explains, gesturing to him, “Part of _your_ thing. What you do to make it seem believable.”

There’s an out. There’s a simple out to make it seem like he wasn’t just a creep. He should take it.

Unfortunately, his mouth doesn’t listen to his brain when he’s slightly terrified and still kind of horny. Definitely horny. Louis’ cologne reaches him from here and with the way he’s gritting his teeth his jawline is accentuated and the image of him soaking wet squeezing a rubber duck is imprinted in his mind—

“No.” He says with a shake of his head, then watches the way Louis looks at him with slight shock, “No, that was definitely a you thing.”

Louis relaxes, his arms folding over his chest. He gives Harry an elevated glance. Harry burns all over. “A me thing?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, half in a daze, “That was...” He swallows the rest of his sentence, then tells himself to look at his shoes instead of the blues of Louis’ eyes. “But I’m, um, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. Really, I am.”

Louis hums thoughtfully and Harry’s made to look up at him. The previous blue has darkened significantly and Harry wills himself not to go crazy over what that might mean.

There’s a moment where their locked gaze charges the air between them and Harry’s certain that Louis will bridge their small gap. But instead he breaks it entirely and steps towards the door.

“I’m gonna get some lunch.”

And then the room is quiet.

Harry squeezes his eyes together and then walks over to the bed before falling down onto it.

Eyes closed, the only thing he can see is Louis in amongst bubbles, Louis closely in front of him and looking at him with lust, Louis.

_We’re not going to be friends._

He reminds himself weakly.

_I can’t fall in love with you._

.

That night, Harry gets off a call from one of his managers when Louis finally returns. 

He’d been out for lunch for nine hours, not like Harry’d been counting. But he’d also bumped into Liam, and Niall and Zayn in the duration of that time, none of them knowing where Louis had gone off to, unaware that he’d even left. 

He’d tried not to worry. Zayn had told Harry that he worries about Louis every day. He assumed that’s how they all felt, too. Harry understands, now, when Louis disappears and doesn’t keep people in the know. 

So Harry had stayed in the room, not-so-waiting for him to return. 

He’d spent his time looking up One Direction photoshoots like he said he would and instantly regretted it. The pornographic imagery this band has gone through, it’s really no wonder why they have so many sexual connotations linked to their career. He’d also spent his time in the shower, willing his mind to just shut the fuck up about Louis in its entirety, since he knows he’s only being strange about him because it’s been so fucking long since he’s had anyone, even before Karli. 

And Louis’ attractive. He can admit that. He’d thought so as soon as he saw him backstage, leant over that vanity, locking eyes in the mirror. He’d thought so even when Louis had determined that he didn’t like Harry at all. And he thinks so now, as Louis enters the room while Harry’s tucked up in bed, hair slightly wild and eyes tired.

“Long lunch.” Harry says once Louis smiles at him in greeting. 

Louis laughs through his nose, taking off his jacket. “Keeping tabs on me now, Styles?”

“Boys didn’t know you left.” Harry replies. 

Louis pauses briefly, then begins to walk over to his side of the bed, and takes off his shirt. Harry directs his attention elsewhere. “I was with Preston.”

“You had a nine hour lunch date with your bodyguard?”

Louis scoffs, plugging his phone in and then makes a start on undoing his jeans. “What are you, Harry, my guardian?”

Harry presses his teeth together. “Head’s up would’ve been good.” 

He hears a sigh, then Louis’ making his way into the bathroom where he shuts the door and hears the tap water running. Harry flops down onto the pillow, facing the ceiling. He balls his hand up into a fist and taps it with his forehead, scrunching his eyes shut. 

After a few minutes, Louis emerges, then turns off the lights before crawling into bed. Harry thinks that’s how they’ll sleep tonight, with no “goodnight’s” like they did the night before. The excess pillows are still lined up in between them, separating their bodies from each other.

Harry opens his eyes, looks at Louis’ back. “M’not keeping tabs on you.” He clarifies. “I just know that Zayn… and stuff, they worry. Um, about you.”

It’s silent for a while, and Harry’s momentarily sure Louis’ just passed out then and there. Until there’s movement, and Louis turns so he’s facing him. In the dark, Harry can still make out Louis’ frown. 

“What the fuck do you mean?”

“Uhh—“

“Have you been talking about me? With them?” Louis asks him, and Harry’s suddenly stumped. “Because I can guarantee that you don’t know anything about them, _or_ me, or how we work as a band. And I don’t know why you care.”

“I _don’t_,” Harry deflects, almost like a reflex. “Just forget I said anything.”

But Harry still feels eyes on him. 

Then, “Harry?”

He swallows. “Yeah?”

“Are you catching feelings for me by any chance?”

Harry splutters at the question. “_No_.” He says immediately. “No. ‘Course not. God, why would you even ask that?”

“Mm, y’know.” Louis says conversationally, his grin visible. “Just the staring, the concern, _definitely a you thing_…”

“It’s not.” Harry speaks over the top of him. “It was— like, if I’d be sharing a room with Liam, I’d have said the same thing.”

“Okay.” Louis says, grin still visible in his words. Harry thanks the lord that the lights are off. “Just checking.”

The room goes silent once again and Harry feels his skin burn. He’s suddenly wide awake, now, and his heart is beating fast. God _dammit_. 

“What about you, then?” He asks. 

“Hm?” Louis says with a tilt to his voice. 

“Are you catching feelings for me at all?”

The slight hesitation makes Harry hold his breath. 

“Oh, no.” Louis says on a sigh. Harry tries not to sink further into the bed. “Don’t worry, Harold, you’re too lovely to be my type, anyway.”

Harry scrunches up his brows, then turns away from Louis. They both say their good-night’s, but Harry’s mind whirls as the soft sounds of Louis sleeping eventually fill the room. 

.

“You’re doing it again.”

Harry blinks out of his trance, which just so happened to be focused on Louis’ profile as they ate breakfast — they’re sitting near the window, the light streaming in and dancing on the highest points of Louis’ cheekbones — and Harry had been day dreaming, and yes it had been about the person sitting next to him.

“Sorry.” He replies. Louis still doesn’t look at him from where he’s paying attention to his pancakes. “Didn’t mean to, just looking outside.”

Louis’ mouth fidgets like he’s trying to fight a smile and takes a bite of his food. He munches on it so quietly, the sun catching the lighter ends of his eyelashes as he blinks. His tongue pokes out slightly to lick over his lips and with the movement Harry can see the ends of his mouth quirking upwards and... right.

He’s staring. Again.

“Uh,” Harry shifts in his chair and looks at his own unfinished plate of food. He frowns, wondering how the hell he ended up watching Louis in the first place. “So, what’s the plan today, then?”

“Got a meet and greet thing at Westfield at noon but that’s basically all, I think.” Zayn replies.

Harry nods, then feels someone kick his shoe underneath the table. He glances up and finds Liam looking at him with a knowing smirk. It sends an unsettled feeling in Harry’s gut.

“What are you gonna do, then?” Liam asks, “Could tag along, but I think they’d genuinely have to shut down the joint if word got out that you were there.”

“Are we not enough, Liam?” Louis challenges. Harry makes a point of not looking at him.

“Shush, you.” Liam says, loading his fork up with egg and pretending to flick it at him.

“Oi, if you wanna start that, we can.” Louis tells him honestly as Zayn watches on with a smile. “I’ve got a shit tonne of blueberry’d ammo that’d go fittingly with your choice of white today.”

“You’re not having a food fight in the fucking _Corinthia_, for God’s sake.” A voice tells them as he sits down in the empty seat between Harry and Louis.

It’s One Direction’s manager, the one Harry met while he was simultaneously hungover and jet lagged, and whom he hasn’t learnt the name of yet. Harry honestly forgets he’s around some days, since he’ll pop in to and from just to keep them updated.

Everyone looks at him except for Niall, who’s been astonishingly quiet all throughout breakfast, happily eating his share of food.

As their manager fills them in on the day ahead, Harry slides out his phone and replies to a few waiting texts. It’s while he’s reading an email from one of his producers when he receives a message.

Louis Tomlinson: _Didn’t you know it was rude to be on your phone at the table?_

Harry presses his lips together to help from smiling. He taps on the notification before it goes away and sends a reply.

_Shouldn’t you be listening right now?_

Louis Tomlinson: _..._

Louis Tomlinson: _Have we met?_

A chuckle escapes Harry and he hides it in his hand. God, it’s not even funny, is it?

He doesn’t form a reply, since their manager gets up and leaves, but Harry immediately zones in on Louis. He finds him already holding his gaze and they share a smile and it zips down Harry’s spine.

“We should probably start getting ready, then.” Louis says, more so to the table than to him.

“Yeah,” Niall pipes up, “Probably. We should do something in the evening, though. Something chilled. Need a good relax.”

“Could go to the hotel’s pool?” Liam suggests, “It’s got a nice spa and sauna, and could make sure the hotel books it out just for us.”

“That’d be nice.” Harry says, but immediately wants to take it back. He’s already seen everyone in their bloody bathers. Now he’ll be joining them. The mere insinuation of it sends a shoot of arousal to his dick.

It really has been way too fucking long.

“Alright, around six?” Zayn says, “Gives us time from when we come back?”

“Okay,” Harry nods. It’s happening. Right. “I’ll probably meet you guys there, then. Do a few laps beforehand.”

And definitely avoiding Louis half naked whilst in the same hotel room.

“Laps?” Louis questions, “You do understand the word ‘relax’, right?”

Harry digests the way Louis’ sitting, sprawled in the chair with his legs parted, hair slightly scruff from bed. And has his mouth always been that pink?

“I’ll be relaxing all day.” Harry counters. His dick twitches in his joggers when he realises just _how_ he’ll be able to use up all his time.

“Oh,” Niall barks out a laugh, “I know exactly what you’ll be doin’.”

Harry locks eyes with him and then shrugs, grinning lazily as he laces his fingers together behind his head. “I’m not even gonna deny it.”

Liam snorts while Niall lets out another laugh. Zayn’s mouth is skirting on a smile as he watches Louis.

“Right. Well.” Louis says on an intake of breath. “Be sure to be... done, before I walk in.”

Ugh. That’s another fantasy Harry will have to linger on later.

“Told you,” Harry says, holding his heavy gaze, “I’ll be lapping by that time, while I’m _very_ relaxed, actually.”

He catches the way Louis’ eyes flit quickly over Harry’s body, the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He seems speechless, suddenly, and Harry feels his belly flip the longer they look at each other.

And when Zayn coughs it’s like the electricity cuts out and they both drop their gaze. He’s sure Louis felt that too.

_And what if he did?_ His subconscious asks, _What will you do then?_

But he doesn’t even have time to dwell on it because Zayn and Louis mutter something together about using one’s hair gel and in a whirlwind it’s suddenly only Harry, Liam and Niall left, and the two of them are sitting opposite him and grinning like madmen.

.

It’s no surprise that Harry spends the better half of the day alone in his hotel room, spread out on their bed, wanking leisurely.

He’s absolutely spent by two, and thinks that maybe he should probably get dressed and do something that requires him to leave the room and be productive. It’d probably also be a good chance for the cleaners to change the sheets, since the room most likely smells of his spunk.

“_Be sure to be done before I walk in_.”

God. He imagines Louis walking in right now, immediately zoning in on Harry completely naked and spread on the bed, pictures his face and how he’d be speechless like he was at breakfast. Would be walk back out with an apology? Shielding his eyes as he quickly shuts the door? Or would he just stand there, mouth slightly agape, waiting. Staring.

Harry groans as he wraps a hand around his sensitive dick, surprisingly filling up as he pulls himself off. His first wank had been speedy, finished fast, all the build up from this week alone and sharing a bed with Louis two nights in a row had meant that Harry didn’t even have time to visualise anything, just focused on the sensation before he came. The second time had been better, slower. It took him a while, his wrist turning sore from the motion, but he’d writhed in bed picturing Louis there with him, speaking in his ear and coaxing him with his hand. He’d came with his name on his lips — and with the realisation that Harry’s attempting it again, thinking about the _same_ person, he stops.

His hand falls flat onto the mattress whilst his dick lies half hard on his thigh.

_Well,_ Harry thinks pathetically to himself, _I’ve got a problem, then_.

.

He spends the worse half of the day bored out of his mind.

He doesn’t feel like leaving the hotel and having to avoid the public and be followed around with his bodyguard and endure the hassle of appearing places but actually not getting anything done. And he’d tried songwriting, exploring the hotel for any areas that might’ve sparked inspiration, but he fell short every time he took out his journal and pen, mind clear but nothing to show for it. So he just wastes time scrolling through his phone and eating lunch by himself, counting down the hours until the band comes back.

It’s odd, though. Harry’s spent countless trips around the world by himself. Just him and his team and sometimes his family, living out of a suitcase and calling different hotels home for a few days at a time. He’d considered it downtime, in a way, since he was relaxed before doing shows or recordings. But he’d never realised how boring it feels, never realised it could be so much more.

It seems wrong to admit that it’s because of a certain pop-punk boy band. It’s definitely because this trip isn’t even for him, exactly. That’s why.

At four in the afternoon, Harry changes into his swimsuit and makes his way down to the pool.

It’d been somewhat of a mistake, though, as they must have only asked for the pool to be booked out when they all were meant to be there. And when Harry walks in there’s a family and a couple lounging around, and one of the kids notices him instantly.

From there, Harry draws in a bit of a crowd from the commotion, since the pool is the most communal area in the hotel, and he takes photos and chats with everyone, an hour passing before he even realises it.

He loves it, though. There’s always interesting people that he meets, always ones with a story, always ones that cry over how much they love his music, and it’s the better part of the job. Especially when it’s controlled like this.

One of the managers comes in to tell the families that the pool is off limits tonight until further notice, and Harry says farewell to everyone, before finally diving into the pool.

He hasn’t swam in a while, opting to do whatever his trainer has taught him to do in the gym instead, but he picks up right where he left off, swimming laps with ease and almost feeling therapeutic with it.

It’s when he’s floating on his back, enjoying the quietness, when he hears a noise. He smiles and swims to the edge of the pool where the door is when he notices Zayn and Liam entering.

Liam whistles lowly, “This area is huge.” He raises his brows with excitement and looks at Zayn, “How’s the echo!”

Zayn laughs and Harry folds his arms over the edge, watching them and waiting for them to join.

“How was the press day?” He asks.

Zayn shrugs. “Alright. Wish they’d ask more about the album, though. The amount of times Niall and I have had to clarify that we’re an item is kinda annoying, especially since we’ve already done our exclusive.”

“I fucking love it,” Niall says behind him, entering the room with Louis. “I’d tell everyone and their mother that you’re my man, Malik.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “You _do_ tell everyone and their mother, Niall.”

But it goes unnoticed since Zayn brings Niall in for a hug, and then a smooch, and Louis pretends to gag.

Harry chuckles, and the sound makes Louis notice him. “And how was your day?”

Harry lifts his head up from his arms, “Uh, extremely productive.” He lies. “Did a lot.”

“Mm.” Louis hums, “I’m sure you did.”

There’s a splash behind him and Harry turns to find Liam in the water, flicking his soaked hair out of his face. Niall cannonballs straight after, splashing Liam directly as Zayn perches by the end of the pool, dipping his feet in.

Harry lowers himself into the water but keeps his eyes above it as he watches Louis walk down the steps and into the pool, palms flat and patting the surface of the water, stopping before his neck reaches it. His skin looks so smooth underneath the soft lights, his piercings glistening and his tattoos making it hard for Harry’s eyes to stray elsewhere. 

Louis glances over at Harry and Harry has no choice but to lower himself completely, swimming underwater before coming up and flicking his hair out of his face.

“How many laps did you do?”

Harry feels his skin jump, then turns around to find Louis there, hair perfect from the day and eyes accentuated with slight eyeliner on his waterline, making his stare more intense.

“Oh, uh,” Harry replies, running a hand through his hair and involuntarily flexing his arm muscles, “A lot. I lost track. Been here since four.”

“Mm?” Louis hums in question, slowly moving towards him through the water. Harry’s heart quickens in pace. “Must be _exhausted_.”

Harry laughs weakly, then straightens his back, puffing out his chest, “Nah, I exercise quite a lot, so.”

Louis’ gaze trails over Harry’s body shamelessly whilst he continues to move closer. He can hear the others having a conversation but Harry can’t even concentrate on anything other than the space between them getting smaller and smaller. Harry swallows thickly. He spots the way Louis tracks the movement.

“I can tell.” Louis says once he’s impossibly close. Harry doesn’t dare move. Are there cameras here that he should know about? “So. What else did you do today?”

Louis flicks his gaze up at him, blue eyes piercing into his own, innocence written on his face, creating a confusing contrast to the suggestive infliction with his words. 

Harry stumbles his own words. “Tried to write songs. Failed.” Louis hums again, then lets his fingers trail delicately down Harry’s arm. Harry refrains from letting out a shudder. “Uh, I walked around, too. Just the hotel.”

He doesn’t even know if he’s making sense at this point but he doesn’t care because Louis’ hand is wrapped around Harry’s bicep and his thumb is stroking it lightly and the movement sends a thrill straight to his dick.

“What else?” Louis asks, almost a whisper.

Harry stares at Louis’ mouth as he speaks, the wetness of his lips sending him in a trance.

_What else_?

“Harry,” He says, mouth curving into a smile, “You there?”

Harry blinks to focus on Louis’ eyes and finds them sparkling. It’s surely the reflection of the water. He forgets what they were talking about. “Yeah?”

Then Louis laughs genuinely and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard — and he’s once heard a live choir harmonise to his own song in an empty cathedral.

Louis distances himself from him, then splashes Harry with a wave of water, shocking him out of any reverie he was in.

After he shakes out the water, Harry refocuses and finds Louis swimming to the others. He breathes in deeply, then lets out a sigh.

.

They spend their afternoon swimming. Louis had climbed on Liam’s shoulders (much to Harry’s dismay), and Niall had climbed on Harry’s, and they fought to keep each other upright while Zayn acted as a referee. Louis and Liam won, because of course they did, since Niall lacked tactic and Harry’s about as sturdy as a broken table, and after three rematches with the same outcome, they’d given up. 

Harry tried not to stare. 

He’d tried not to when they were all swimming around and shit-talking, tried not to when they left the pool and towel-dried off, tried not to when they were all in the elevators still damp and shivering. 

And he tries not to now as Louis opens the door for him with a smile. But of course, Harry had failed. 

He’s come to the conclusion that it’s impossible, actually. Louis is captivating. He holds the room in his hand and he’s entertaining and just so pleasing to look at. He’s complex, too, Harry’s come to find, and he tells himself one of the reasons why he watches him so often is because he could pinpoint answers that way. That things will fall into place, finally. 

“So, erm, I’ve kinda been thinking, like.” Louis says once they’re settled in the room, still in their bathers, towel drying their hair. Harry notices the hesitancy in Louis’ stance, the avoidance of eye contact. It’s different to the Louis in the pool, the flirtatious and confident Louis that embarrassingly stunned Harry with nothing more than a glance and the briefest of touches. No, this Louis is somewhat shy, a glimpse that Harry’s only managed to see a few times. “Well, we’ve been a couple for a while now, right? But we haven’t exactly, erm, kissed in public, yet. And the club night doesn’t count because, like, I was drunk. It’s easier when I drink.”

Harry tilts his head to the side, “Louis, you weren’t that—“

But Louis holds up his hand, and interrupts. “It doesn’t count. And, erm, like.” He moves his fringe out of his eyes which are scoping out the room, never landing and never on Harry. “You know, considering what Sam Smith and that Brandon guy did when they kissed publicly and _sober_, I don’t want there to be yet _another_ gay stereotype if ours is just as atrocious as theirs, don’t you agree?”

Harry purses his lips together to stop from laughing. He waits until Louis finally looks at him to say, “You want to kiss publicly, and sober… to rectify a potential gay stereotype?”

Louis sighs impatiently and rolls his eyes before walking over and sitting down in the middle of the bed. “I mean, like, shouldn’t we practice a bit? I don’t want our first_ real_ time to be caught on camera and it’s just you, like, eating me face.”

Harry allows a laugh, now, and it fills the room. He sits down beside Louis, “I promise I won’t eat your face. I know how to kiss.”

Louis looks down at his hands. “Right. So, then, with your other relationships, what do you usually do? Just wing it on the day? No science involved?”

With Adriana, they would kiss constantly. She was a perfectionist, and Harry enjoyed doing it. With Karli, they’d only pecked once or twice in public. And with the others, they never did.

“I don’t think you have to worry about it,” Harry tells him. Louis glances up, his eyes searching, brows furrowed. “We don’t have to do much at all, now that it’s been established that people don’t need convincing, about us.”

“Okay, _yeah_,” Louis huffs and shifts his position on the bed. “But what if we’re seen together and people tell us to kiss or something? Like, won’t that take us off guard? Whereas if I know what to _do_, then it’d seem a lot more natural, won’t it?”

Harry’s at a loss. From his understanding, couples are never asked to kiss each other when they’re out. And if they are, he’s sure those people aren’t expecting some spin-the-bottle type fiasco. So Louis’ truly making no sense in the slightest. Which wouldn’t be the first time, if Harry’s honest.

“That’s really not—“ But then Harry cuts himself off when his eyes land back on Louis after they’ve searched the room, and finds his attention set on Harry’s mouth. _Oh_. He swallows, finds his voice. “Louis?”

They lock eyes. Louis narrows his. “What?”

Harry could be wrong. He’s read signs from Louis completely wrong in the past. But since this morning, from the breakfast table to the touching in the pool, to now, Harry feels the tension between them rising. 

He decides to bite the bullet.

“Do you want to practice kissing, Lou?”

Louis flits his gaze from Harry’s eyes to his mouth then back up again. He waits two seconds before replying. “Do _you_ wanna practice?”

Harry nods, ignoring the swelling in his chest and licks his lips just to be a tease. “Yeah.” He says, then moves closer towards him, mouth tilting up to a smirk. “I mean, anything to demolish false gay stereotypes.”

Louis chuckles breathlessly, waiting for Harry’s cue. He brings a gentle hand up and cups Louis’ face, unintentionally brushing his thumb over Louis’ cheekbones. His eyelashes flutter with the movement and, yeah, Harry could stare at him all day.

“Well?” Louis whispers, “This isn’t a rom-com, Styles, get on with i—“

Harry closes in. Their lips touch softly, and Louis responds immediately, pushing back against him. 

Outside the club, when they’d kissed the first time, Harry’d done it on a whim, the feeling of it only catching up to him when he’d gone home alone that night. But now, kissing Louis because he wants to — and (he’s _right,)_ being sober — whilst in a hotel room just for them… Harry can’t help but deepen it, opening Louis up with his tongue and hearing the way Louis’ breaths quicken in pace. 

One of Louis’ hands reach up and around to Harry’s hair, his fingers feeding through it and bringing them closer. From there, it’s a losing game. Harry instinctively shifts his body and holds Louis’ hip with his other hand. He touches his bare skin and suddenly realises they’re both half-naked. And damp.

They should stop. Before it gets too complicated, before Harry’s mind gets muddled. 

But with the touch to his hip, Louis moves closer, too. He scrunches his hand in Harry’s hair and all thoughts of stopping cease, instead moving both hands down to Louis’ hips and pulling him to sit on his lap. 

Louis comes willingly, straddling Harry with ease, and they lean back together, still kissing, until Harry’s laid out on the bed and Louis’ bent down over him. Harry doesn’t think, just traces his hands over Louis’ skin and focuses on the sensation of Louis kissing him deeply, pressing Harry into the mattress. 

Despite a day full of release, Harry’s dick is still interested, the weight of Louis on top of him makes his hips want to roll upwards, create friction. He doesn’t have to, though, since Louis grinds his hips downwards and against him, and Harry’s suddenly overwhelmed and filled with _want_. 

He wraps around Louis’ body and flips them over, Louis’ surprised sounds muffled by Harry’s mouth. With Louis’ legs open, Harry presses his half-hard length against him, making Louis turn his face away with a moan, fingertips digging into Harry’s back. 

No longer kissing, Harry takes a moment to look at Louis’ face. His eyes are shut, cheeks pink and mouth red and wet. He rolls his hips into Louis again, and watches as Louis’ brows come together, his head tilting back into the pillow as another small moan escapes him and, _shit_. 

“God.” Harry groans, then bends down to press his lips to the skin of Louis’ neck, unable to keep away for too long. He presses into him, the sensation of it shooting through his dick. He could unravel Louis right here, watch him come apart underneath him just like in his dreams.

“Harry.” Louis says, breathless. 

It spurs Harry on, hearing his name like that. He grinds down again, his cock fully hard against him. He continues sucking on the spot on his neck. He almost wants to know how hard Louis is, too. 

“_Harry_,” Louis repeats, and if it weren’t for the slight chuckle paired with it, Harry would’ve thought he just liked saying his name. But Louis’ fingers stop pressing into his back, hands splayed out instead, patting him gently. 

Harry detaches from his neck, stops completely. He looks at Louis, finds him staring back — pupils large and eyes glazed, his hair sticking to his forehead, his entire face flushed — and he’s smiling, save for the open mouth as he catches his breath. 

“Yeah?” Harry replies, surprised by the deepness and hoarseness of his own voice. 

Louis swallows, then lets out another chuckle. It comes out shy, almost, and he looks down, lashes long. “I don’t think— I don’t think we’ll be doing this in public.”

Harry’s momentarily confused. Of course they wouldn’t be. Then Louis flits his gaze back up, and his lip twitches up into a smirk, brows slowly rising as he watches Harry’s brain work. 

Oh. 

“_Oh_.” Harry blinks. He distances himself from Louis, sitting back on his heels as Louis looks at him in amusement, the feeling like he was a wild animal slowly dissipating. Fuck. “You’re right. Probably not. Um. I’m sorry? Kinda… lost control.”

Louis lets out an airy laugh. “It’s okay. Happens to the best of us.”

And Harry should probably move, get his ass into gear. But he’s honestly spent from the day and with Louis staring at him like he is, eyelids heavy with his tongue darting out to lick over his bottom lip, Harry doesn’t want to move at all. 

“C’mon, then.” Louis tells him, then lifts up the blanket before sliding underneath it, telling Harry to do the same. “Bedtime.”

Harry wills his erection to go down on its own as Harry follows orders and turns off the lights before crawling into bed beside Louis. His eyes are open, staring at the ceiling and concentrating on not touching himself, which is why he only realises a moment later after they say goodnight:

“Wait, Lou, the pillows…”

The wall of pillows between them that are usually there have been rearranged on the couch when housekeeping cleaned the room, neither of them replacing them like they have done in the past. 

But Louis, facing away from Harry, mumbles back, “Fuck the pillows.”

And that’s that. 


	8. Chapter 8

The sensation is unbelievable.

Harry rolls his hips against the friction repetitively, the pressure amazing, his cock aching. He thinks he’s dreaming until he opens his eyes and looks down, all sense of reality and arousal hitting him at once. 

He wants to gasp but the air gets caught in his throat. Louis’ half on top of him, a leg thrown over him in between his own. His hand is over Harry’s pectoral, and Harry’s got his own hand down Louis’ pants, cupping his ass cheek. Harry’s eyes widen, all movements stopping. 

He can’t see Louis’ face, only the top of his head. Harry bites down on his lip and slowly tries to moves his hand away, silently cursing at himself and thinking of a way to leave before Louis becomes terrified of Harry’s morning shame.

He’s never understood why it’s called morning glory. What is glorious about an unprecedented erection in the early hours of the day? An unprecedented erection in the early hours of the day rubbing against a cuddling _newfound_ friend, to make it worse. 

Harry stares up at the ceiling. He slowly takes his hand away, mentally punishing his dick for being so fucking needy. 

And then Louis moves. _Shit_, Harry thinks, _he’s awake_. He braces himself, freezes, and prepares for the absolute thrashing he’ll cop from Louis laughing at his uncomfortable situation. Or, the abominable shriek before running away and never looking him in the eye. Honestly, Harry’s prepared for both. 

But in a wild, _wild_, turn of events — Louis’ hand reaches back and his fingers lace around Harry’s wrist instead.

“No,” Louis says, words stiff like he just woke up. “Keep going.”

Harry blinks multiple times before his brain kicks in. _Is_ he still dreaming?

But as if to certify his own words, Louis guides Harry’s hand back down his pants, and he grinds his hips down onto Harry’s experimentally, causing Harry’s head to move back into the pillow, eyes falling shut with a groan. 

Well. Harry doesn’t hesitate. He moves both hands into Louis’ pants and grabs a firm hold of his ass, using his grip to hoist Louis fully onto his body. Harry moves up into him as he forces Louis down, feeling their cocks press together in perfect sync. 

Louis’ hands reach out to clutch at Harry’s sides, his mouth nipping his skin teasingly as Harry’s gyrating goes from languid and purposeful, to quick and desperate in under a minute. 

“Jesus, _Louis_.” Harry groans, sparks flying in his mind, squeezing and un-squeezing the perky flesh underneath his palm. All comprehension is thrown out the window, replaced by an unreal feeling, the smell of Louis' hair overtaking everything else. He breathes in deep and curses up at the ceiling. “You’re gonna fucking ruin my life.”

“C’mon,” Louis whispers, finding Harry’s nipple and biting it. The feeling makes Harry’s hips stutter, his brain becoming a blurry mess. Louis licks over the same nipple, and Harry spreads Louis’ cheeks apart, one of his fingers accidentally slipping between them as Harry thrusts up into him. “_Harry_,” Louis whines, fingertips digging into Harry’s side.

Harry wants to hear it again, so he presses a finger firmly to the cleft of his ass. Instead of his name, a high moan escapes Louis’ lips, and Harry feels his body shake. Harry’s eyes widen, realising he’s just orgasmed.

“Holy fuck,” Harry continues his movements as Louis rides his aftershocks, and Harry feels himself getting close. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Shut up.” Louis says, weak, breathless. He tilts his head up, then presses his mouth against Harry’s neck. Harry grinds his cock against Louis’ thigh, eyes squeezed shut. Then Louis bites his skin, and Harry comes. 

They both lay there for a moment, Harry still seeing stars and Louis still over him. 

Clarity slowly reaches Harry’s mind but he’s certain those past few minutes weren’t real. Jesus _Christ_. 

“Well.” He says to break the quietness, and to make it seem like more of a reality. “I suppose that was good practice.”

Louis snorts once, then rolls off of a grinning Harry. He hardly gets to see Louis post-orgasm when he cops a pillow to the face.

.

“So, what’s the rules today, then, Harold?” Louis flicks his fringe out of his eyes as he talks, looking out at the road as buildings pass. “Are we holding hands for precisely twelve point five seconds? Are we strolling around, making sure to laugh in unison as we pass a certain tree? Are we strictly platonic-like today? Or are we turning it up a notch and, say, proceeding to the long-awaited groping? ”

Harry’s smile grows the more Louis goes on, letting him babble like he knows he does. He’d never tell him, but when they first met, Harry thought his babbling was endearing. Overhearing him at the public relations office, going on about pandas, Harry had strained his ears to listen, knowing the sound of Louis’ voice anywhere. Even when Louis had tried to ark up at him, drunk as anything, Harry’s sure he still had a spark of wonderment in his eye — just like he must have now, if Louis’ stare is anything to go by.

“Hello? Styles?” He’s smiling and Harry blinks lazily in some kind of response, “We’re almost at the location, I’m assuming.”

“Ah...” Harry holds a finger to his chin as he forces himself to look around. He looks at the buildings, the place familiar to what he had been told over the phone. “Ah, yeah, just about.”

“So what’s the low-down, then?” Louis prompts, voice softer than it was.

Harry looks over, finds the curious glint in Louis’ expression. There was, of course, a minute play-by-play sent to his and Louis’ email as soon as they touched down in London for this particular day, but truthfully Harry hadn’t even looked at it.

So he shrugs.

“What?” Louis asks, but it’s with a growing grin, “Hazza, was that a shrug I just saw?”

Harry juts his bottom lip out in a careless fashion and tries not to smile at the newfound nickname, “I don’t know, was it?”

Louis gasps lowly in realisation, “Are you letting go of the reigns, Styles? Is that what this means?”

“I think the correct expression is ‘going with the flow,’ actually.”

Louis laughs and taps Harry’s knee with his own. “Thought I’d never see the day, to be honest.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “I’m not a _bore_.”

“You are with me.” Louis tells him. Harry lets his mouth fall open. “Oh, c’mon! You are, admit it. I’ve vented to the boys many times about how highly strung you are when we’re alone together.”

Harry allows a smirk, “I wasn’t this morning, though, was I?”

It’s unexpected and beautiful when Louis’ cheeks flush as he looks down. Harry feels triumphant. Accomplished, almost. But it’s interrupted when the car door is opened for him, signalling that it’s time for their date to officially start.

Louis’ still a little red as they step out of the car, and Harry immediately wants to just pick him up and take him back to the hotel. Maybe they can arrange just to take a photo together and post it online instead? Harry would much rather continue on from this morning; to spread Louis out on their mattress and take his time with it, finding out what else makes Louis moan—

“So we’re just standing here for two hours, then?”

Louis stands in front of him, blue eyes quizzical.

“You’re the adventurous one, aren’t you?” Harry asks him, watching the way Louis’ mouth quirks as he says it. “What would your perfect date be? You know, if you had a boyfriend.”

“Right, well, _if_ I had a boyfriend,” Louis repeats, eyes searching for something Harry’s unsure of, “We’d be avoiding anything public and anything daytime. So, actually, this is my worst nightmare.”

Harry groans, “I’m _serious_, Lou. We’ve got time to kill and I don’t know this city at all.”

“I thought the boys gave you a tour?”

“Yeah, but,” Harry folds his arms over his chest and shrugs again, “I wanna know where Louis Tomlinson: singer, songwriter and lead bassist of One Direction thinks the best places in London are.”

Louis scoffs, looking away. “Your body language is hostile right now.” He turns around to start walking as Harry drops his arms, “And I’m not the lead bassist, I’m the _only_ bassist.”

“And you’re very good.” Harry tells him.

Louis chuckles, shaking his head. “Okay, Styles. Make sure you keep up then, yes?” He tells him, looking back. Harry speeds up a little, keeping in stride with him. 

“I will. Was just taking the opportunity to goggle your bum.”

It’s probably deserving, the vicious tap to the balls. 

“That’s how it’s done.” Louis grins as Harry clutches his goods with both hands. “Later.”

Harry’s about to cuss him out, but Louis takes his own opportunity to speed off, leaving him to suffer on his own. 

.

Louis takes him to a lake. 

Which is actually a very generous description of what Louis has determined is a lake. It’s more like a sad pond with overgrown moss and rubbish intertwined with the foliage. And it’s hidden, too, between two slight hills, the lake-pond acting like a crevice in land. 

It’s fucking cold, too, is the thing. So as Louis had kept walking, Harry had been slowly dying, just hoping they’d be going to some favourite restaurant of Louis’, or a nice landmark indoors. With heating. 

Instead they’re here. In an algae-filled crevice.

“I don’t know why fuckers leave their fucking shit here.” Louis grumbles to himself, walking closer to the lake and picking up plastic packages and beer bottles that’ve been left around for God knows how long. “I put this here for a fucking reason. D’you think anyone uses it? No, ‘course not.” He continues, dropping the rubbish in what looks like a makeshift bin. “Nothing’s changed here, at least.”

He plops down onto the grass, then immediately pulls out a cigarette. Harry hesitates, rubbing his hands together to warm them before taking the spot next to Louis. A benefit to this location is that there’s no wind here, but the frost is still evident, so Harry hides his hands underneath his thighs. 

“So this is your favourite spot in London, then?”

“Mm-hmm.” Louis replies, blowing out the smoke. “Used to spent most days here.” He points to the hill in front of them. “Just over this is the school you went to yesterday.”

Harry’s brows rise. “Is it really?” Louis nods, takes another drag. “It’s a… it’s a really lovely school.”

Louis snorts, shakes his head. “You don’t have to fill our arses up with lies, Harry.” 

“I’m not.” Harry tells him, “I mean, it’s obviously different to a Californian private school, but it’s got character. And it’s where you graduated.”

“It’s a shithole.” Louis states. “So’s this place right here.”

Harry frowns at that. 

Sure, it’s a little on the nose and it’s not particularly the most picturesque view he’s ever seen, but Louis had spent most his time here, and he cared for it enough to clean it up from the mess it’s accumulated. “But, you—“

“London’s full of masked bullshit. Nice cafe’s, expensive clothes, the like.” Louis waves his hand noncommittally in the air, smoke trailing its path. “Dingy, hidden places like this… I don’t know. Without it sounding morbid, it kind of levels with me.”

Harry nods, actually understanding. “You really are a fan of real, aren’t you?”

Louis smiles, but it’s somewhat sad. He inhales the last of his cigarette, then flicks it towards the bin. It lands in it perfectly. When he speaks next, the cold air makes the melody of his words come out in the form of mist. 

“I had a boyfriend, once upon a time.” He begins, and Harry listens, Louis’ words already surprising him. He concentrates on the profile of Louis’ face. “His name was Antonio, and we’d met at some stupid karaoke bar when the band was just starting out. The boys and I, we’d gotten ridiculously drunk and performed some shit. We would’ve sounded absolutely terrible. But Antonio, he was watching, and he’d come up to us, me specifically, and said that he was a manager for a label. Said he saw something in us.

“Should’ve known then and there that he was a con-artist. Like, who signs a bloody karaoke band?” Louis shakes his head. Harry starts to get a sickening feeling in his stomach. He watches the lake instead, the slow movements of the water carrying the sad pile of fallen leaves. “But we were so fuckin’ excited that somebody had seen our talent, recognised it, that we latched onto that kinda hope extremely easily. And when I say _we_, I really mean, erm, me. Antonio had told us that he would take us on the road, promote our songs, give us everything we wanted. It sounded way too fucking good to be true, but honestly I just wanted to get out, you know? This place is a shithole, I’d reached a dead-end in life, and me mum—“

Louis looks down at his hands, clears his throat. He blinks, then looks back up at the hill. “Anyway, long story short, I’d fallen in love with the arsehole.” He sniffs, chuckles humourlessly. “I was young, and he was much older than me, but he was gay and _wanted_ me, like. I remember thinking I had absolutely won at life, like shit was finally turning around because Antonio fucking Gipson liked me back.” He rolls his lips together and shakes his head. It’s silent for a few seconds before he talks again. “He was the nicest person, Harry. Would shower me with compliments. Would have me believe I was worth all the energy and money he was putting into the band. It came with short stabs, though.” Louis locks eyes with Harry, “You know the type where it happens and you don’t realise it hurts until they’re gone?”

Harry nods.

“Yeah, that. And they would be constant, you know. Like, would critic my every move until it was embedded to the back of my brain forever, but then he’d disguise it with kisses and praises and…” Louis’ chest rises and falls with a breath. “We had started our mini tour. Was nothing. Like, might as well ‘ave been a pub crawl, but we’d been living in his caravan like real rockstars. Anyway, on one of the nights before we went on stage, Niall’d forgotten one of his lucky picks, so I went back to the caravan to fetch it.” He clears his throat. “Erm, and that’s when I saw Antonio with another guy.”

He rubs at his nose and Harry’s heart deflates for him. It’s like his chest weighs down, anger and sadness all flowing though him at once. He scoots a little closer and places a hand on Louis’ back. “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

“It wasn’t even, like, the _betrayal_ that got me the most.” Louis tells him, “It was the fact that when he saw me, he didn’t even try to, like, plead his case. He just looked at me like I was nobody and continued on, like whatever I would have done, or said, just… would not have affected him in the slightest.” He picks up a small rock and tosses it to the lake. Harry watches it skip across the water before it sinks. “The person who’d said I was the most important thing in his life. Nice, polite Antonio. And I was actually the most insignificant.” He shrugs, mouth scrunched up slightly. He tilts his face up towards the sky. “So, yeah. Guess I just prefer straight-up and real.”

Harry doesn’t reply for a second or two. It clicks, then, how Louis would have perceived him from the very start, how Louis must have been weary for people like Antonio ever since. He gets it, now. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry begins, preparing an apology for his own behaviour. But Louis must take it as a repeat from before, and he looks at Harry like he’s startled out of his own mind. His face softens, then his brows pull together. 

“Shit.” Louis says before Harry can form another word. “_I’m_ sorry. Feel like I should be paying you,” He laughs, “Y’know, therapist and all.” Louis looks out at the lake and Harry frowns deeply, “God, this area really is fucking depressing. Let’s go, yeah? There’s actually a nice garden in the central part that’d be good for photos—“

Harry’s reflexes make him grab a hold of Louis’ wrist as Louis begins to rise from where he’s seated. Louis’ words falter and his movements pause, looking at Harry in question. 

“I like it here.” Harry tells him. “And I like hearing you talk.”

Louis blinks and Harry watches him swallow. “Oh.” He says, then slowly sits back down. 

“You shouldn’t…” Harry trails off, then swipes his thumb briefly over Louis’ skin before letting go, realising it’s probably too intimate for today. “You shouldn’t apologise for telling me things. I appreciate you telling me that. And I actually owe you an apology, Louis.” 

Louis scoffs quietly, “Harry, I’ve told you. I don’t care that you forgot m—“

“It’s not just that.” Louis searches Harry’s eyes as they lock. “You deserve respect, and I’ve treated you awfully in the past.”

Louis’ mouth twists into something that resembles a smile, and he reaches out and takes a hold of Harry’s hand. “Apology accepted.” He picks Harry’s hand up, and then lets go to throw it onto Harry’s lap. “Now stop looking so sad!”

Harry automatically brings a smile, “‘M not.”

“You are!” Louis tells him, “It’s the depressing pond, innit? Sucks the souls of the happy,” He clicks his tongue, “Should’ve known.”

Harry laughs out loud and suddenly receives Louis’ hand to his mouth. Harry widens his eyes, “Mmh?”

“Sh!” Louis warns, “If it hears you laugh, you’ll become a victim.”

“‘M no’ a vi’ ‘im.” Harry mumbles, spluttering out a laugh behind Louis‘ hand. 

“What was that?” Louis asks, placing his ear closer to Harry’s mouth, “Surely with a mother as great as yours, she taught you not to mumble.”

Harry laughs again, then pokes out his tongue to swipe over Louis’ palm. Louis glares at him with challenge, then takes his palm away. And instead of wiping it on Harry’s face like Harry’s sure he would,Louis leans in and replaces his palm with his mouth, kissing him. 

Harry grins against Louis’ lips, kissing him back, but it doesn’t last long. Louis leans back on his heels and nudges Harry until he falls onto the grass. 

“C’mon, for real this time.” Louis tells him, standing up and over Harry as he’s lying on the grass. “Haven’t got all day.”

“Yes, we do.” Harry counteracts, folding his arms behind his head with a lazy smile. “We’ve literally got a whole day booked out just for this date.”

Louis hums. Harry decides it’s a curse for him to look this good from this angle. “Well, we’ve gotta have something to show for it, don’t we?”

Harry waits a beat. Then, “No.”

He feels a flutter in his chest with the way Louis tilts his head to the side, brow quirked as he looks over him. “No?”

“No,” Harry says, then certifies his point by shutting his eyes and pretending to shuffle his body in the grass to get comfortable, grin unable to lessen. “‘M gonna stay right here.”

There’s a pause. Harry can hear noises in the distance — cars, wind, birds — but Louis’ eyes on him is the loudest thing he can feel. 

Eventually, Harry hears Louis giving up and lying down next to him. Harry opens one eye and squints, watching as Louis settles on the grass. 

“Your back’s all wet now.” Louis tells him. 

Harry shuts both eyes again, smile widening, “So’s yours.”

Louis doesn’t reply for a moment. Harry’s smile slowly slips off his face the longer the silence goes on. He opens one eye and looks at Louis, who’s already staring back at him, brows pinched and mouth twisted.

“You okay?” Harry asks.

He looks guilty, almost. “I’m sorry for, erm, kissing you.”

Harry looks to the sky, frowning, like he’s hoping it will give him some answers. When none come, he blinks, and says, “I don’t—“

“I think… what you said,” Louis continues with a sigh, then swallows harshly, “At the start, about us, erm, not being friends. I think that was smart.” 

Nothing’s present in Harry’s mind except: _no_. “See, I don’t think it was.” Harry counteracts, leaning up on his elbow. “Was stupid, actually.”

But Louis’ shaking his head. “You were right. This is business. We can’t, like,” He gestures broadly with his hands, “Muddle things. And I feel like we kind of have? And that’s my fault, completely.”

“You haven’t muddled things.” Harry tells him. “I’m very un-muddled. So are you.”

Louis chuckles softly, and then looks at Harry with gentle eyes. “I think I am, though.”

Harry watches the way Louis looks down at the grass, at how his mouth sort of dances as he thinks. He’s playing with the grass, fingertips moving through it like he does with Harry’s hair. Louis thinks he’s muddled. How so? With Harry? _Is_ he getting feelings?

“I think this morning was a mistake.” Louis says after a moment. Harry’s heart sinks. “I’m sorry I put you in—in that position. Last night, too. I just, like…” He laughs but it’s humourless, “I think our hotel room is cursed, honestly.”

“Lou,” Harry scoots closer. Louis still focuses on the ground. “I wouldn’t have gone along with it if I didn’t want to. Think you might’ve forgotten that you even had to stop me, remember?” Louis smirks and Harry smiles. “We can be friends. And then after this is all said and done… who knows.”

He can’t picture them separating like nothing’s happened when the contract ends. Somehow, from short sightings and rigid meetings, Louis’ weaselled his way into his life and has stained it like red wine. 

“Harry…” Louis’ looking at him with a smile, “When all of this is said and done, you’ll be out to the world and single, and I’ll be on tour. Are you saying we won’t be friends after this?”

Harry knows there’s a hint of jest behind Louis’ words, and in between them the silence is filled with the words they don’t say: The other option. The one where they end this and they stay together. 

So he shrugs. “Don’t know, Tomlinson. Do _you_ want to be friends after this?”

He’s well aware that he’s parroting Louis from last night and he’s well aware that Louis knows this, too. 

“Styles, after this, you won’t want to be.” 

Harry snorts, then taps Louis lightly on the nose. “Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious.” Louis says, but the playfulness of his expression is visible. It only grows when Harry moves closer. “You’re gonna fall for me, right? Then I’d have to let you down easily, ‘cause you’re all sensitive and tha—“

Harry blocks Louis’ mouth with his palm and laughs, putting him on his back. Louis bites the skin and moves him off, spluttering like Harry’s caused him great distress. 

“And _then_,” Louis continues, pretending to be out of breath. “Everyone will hate me, obviously, because you’re loved by _everybody_…”

“Everybody except for you?” Harry questions, playing along. 

Louis’ eyes brighten, “_Exactly_.” He sits up, the eyes locking with Harry never faltering. “Hey, you’re actually keeping up.”

“Not hard,” Harry tells him, “With long legs like mine.”

An eye roll and a slap to Harry’s arm later, and he finds Louis focusing on the grass again, already inside his own head as he plays with his bottom lip. And just like at the photoshoot and the pool and the breakfast table — Harry can’t help but watch him. He pictures the eighteen-year-old boy in a school photo who couldn’t stay still and pissed off the photographer. He remembers the drunken mess at a day party who had blacked out on a couch in front of people that knew his name but not him. He sees Louis in front of him now, bags underneath his eyes yet a certain glow to his skin as the smallest glimpse of sun peaks through the endless clouds. And Harry could write a song about him, he thinks. 

“You know, I—“ Louis begins after a moment, then looks up from underneath his lashes to lock Harry into a gaze. “I was serious about what I said. About us staying… strictly professional.”

“I know.” Harry says. He nods with a smile. “And we can do that. Absolutely.”

Louis smiles too, then lightly grazes his knuckles against Harry’s shoulder. “Appreciate it, colleague.”

Harry lets out a laugh. “Anytime, friend.”

He watches as Louis slowly shuts his eyes and his bottom lip juts out into a pout. He looks at Harry again and it’s almost with a sadness, but then his hand comes up to ruffle Harry’s hair and he’s standing. 

“C’mon, let’s show our faces to the public and pray that our tour sells out.” 

“No need. I know it will.” Harry replies.

“And you’re an oracle, are you?” Louis asks, already climbing his way up the hill. 

Harry finds himself lingering back, taking a second to ogle Louis’ behind. Then he shakes himself out of it. _Professional_, right. 

.

When Harry walks into the hotel’s gym the next day, Liam’s already there, punching the punching bag with precision. His shirt’s off but he’s not sweating at all and it’s hard to know just how long he’s been in here for. Harry decides not to disturb him, and sits himself on one of the exercise bikes, peddling at a steady pace just to warm up his body.

After their conversation down at Louis’ lake, they’d decided to buy some hot drinks and keep to a park-theme, since they’d already had grass stains on their clothes. As expected, paparazzi had followed them and Harry’s sure they would have gotten more than enough content to last a while. It’d been nothing like he’s ever experienced before, honestly. Harry had taken the reigns off completely, not bothering with protocols or time limits. He didn’t have to overthink, didn’t have to place a fake smile, didn’t have to constantly keep in check to see whether Louis was doing the right thing or not. Instead, Louis had controlled most of the conversation, had teased Harry for how controlling he had been in the past, and had made him laugh so hard he had to wipe away tears. 

Their tour had sold out, too. In less than an hour. 

The boys had celebrated over dinner, having a drink or two and lighting up the dining area. Harry had gone to bed that night alone, resigning earlier than Louis who had wanted to stay up later with Zayn. When in bed, Harry didn’t arrange the pillows down the middle. He’d thought about Louis’ words, but wanted Louis to set the boundaries. 

This morning, Harry had woken up with his arm around Louis’ waist, his nose pressed into his hair. 

He’d needed to extract himself immediately, and the gym seemed to be the only viable option this early in the morning. 

“Oh, Harry!” Liam notices him and walks over, Harry gives him a wave. “Y’alright?”

“Amazing, Liam.” Harry says. “Yourself?”

“I’m good, mate.” He climbs on the bike next to Harry, “Hey, I forgot to ask last night, how was the, er, the sighting yesterday?”

“Good, yeah.” Harry fights a smile at the memory. “Did, um, did Louis say anything about it?”

It’s cringe-worthy. Harry knows it. But he also knows that Liam would know more than he lets on, and he would also know Louis more than Harry could ever know him. And the question is strictly business, truly. Harry just wants to know whether his coworker is… satisfied. 

“Not about yesterday specifically.” Liam says, “But he doesn’t have to, y’know.” Harry looks at him and is about to ask what he means, but Liam continues. “When you had your first or second sighting, Louis had stormed into my house and declared he hated you. Like, pure Louis-style. Said that you’re too uptight and whatever. But gradually, like, I can tell he enjoys spending time with you more and more? So, even the fact that last night, how he had that much energy after a full day, I mean,” Liam scoffs, “Sort of a no-brainer that he liked it, innit?”

Sometimes Liam talks so fast it’s hard to keep up. But right now, Harry’s absorbed every word. Even if it did mean stopping on the bike to listen. 

“Yeah.” Harry responds after a second or two. He liked it. “We’re friends, now. Me and Louis.”

Liam laughs, “You look happy with that. And good, I’m glad. It’s about time.” Liam points to Harry loosely. “Did you wanna try and beat each other’s personal bests? Do a round of everything?”

.

He’s absolutely sweaty and exhausted when he makes it back to the hotel room. 

Liam had made him do everything twice, pushing him and unintentionally becoming Harry’s personal trainer. Harry’s sure Liam would’ve kept going, too, if it weren’t for the interview One Direction have at noon. 

When Harry opens the door, Louis’ there on the couch watching television. He’s still in his pyjamas, curled up on the furtherest end of the couch, hood up and over his head. After lifting weights all morning, Harry kind of has an urge just to walk over and pick him up, too. 

“Hey, Lou.”

Louis turns to him, blinking in surprise, probably thinking he had been maid service. Then he adjusts and he stares Harry up and down. Instead of feeling intimidated, though, Harry instinctively tightens his muscles, arms visible with the singlet he’s wearing. 

“Hi,” Louis manages back after swallowing. He directs his attention back to the T.V. “At the gym, were you?”

Harry laughs, “That obvious?” He walks over and sits down next to him, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “What’re you watching?” 

“Dunno.” 

Harry looks at Louis, eyes still blinking awake and fringe messy. After a second or two Louis meets his gaze. Harry smiles easily at him, “Good sleep?”

“You’re sweaty.” 

It’s meant to come out as an insult but his voice is slightly weak and Harry laughs. He uses the hand that’s not near Louis’ head to pull out his shorts from where it’s sticking uncomfortably to his junk. 

“Yeah.” He replies. “Sorry about that.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just shifts his position on the couch slightly. They’re watching a random sit-com Harry’s never seen before, and when an ad break comes on, Harry throws his other arm over the back of the couch and tilts his head back, shutting his eyes and letting out a sigh. 

“Liam pushed me so hard.” He groans, “I swear, he’s like the terminator or something. He’s a gun. Had me doing boxing and everything.”

“Thought you exercised a lot?” Louis asks.

Harry grins, then opens his eyes. Louis’ gaze immediately flits to the screen, and Harry wonders if Louis’ cheeks have always been that pink since he sat down. Harry gages him. Huh. 

He decides to test something out. “Thought I did.” He replies, then spreads his legs out a little further, allowing the air to flow into his shorts. He keeps an eye on Louis, and his chest sort of stops rising and falling. “But that session really worked my endurance.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes out, airy. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

Harry hums, eyes locked on the screen. Beside him, he can see Louis moving, unable to stay still. 

Then, “God, you really do fucking stink, you know.” Louis stands without looking at him, and pats his pockets, “‘M gonna have a dart.”

He leaves, walking out onto their balcony. Harry chuckles to himself. 

.

In the car, Louis’ even more on edge. 

Harry had taken a shower after Louis went to smoke, but unintentionally forgot his clothes. He’d left the bathroom in just a towel, and Louis’d immediately zoned in on him. 

“Oh.” He said after a moment. “I can… I can leave. I’ll just—“

“It’s alright.” Harry told him, holding down a smirk. “Just close your eyes.”

“Yeah.” Louis said, then cleared his throat.

Harry had chuckled silently to himself yet again, taking his time going through his suitcase, and then brought his clothes back into the bathroom. Right before he shut the door, he had heard Louis exhaling loudly. 

He repeats it now as he sits beside Harry, thighs flush against each other, Niall and Zayn opposite them and Liam beside Harry. Louis reaches forward and pinches Niall on the leg. 

“Ow!” Niall scolds, rubbing the place he pinched. “Are you right?”

“Yes.” Louis replies. “Are you?”

“Don’t pinch him, Lou.” Zayn tells him like a bored parent as he looks down at his phone. 

“So he has his knee out for all to see and I’m _not_ supposed to pinch him? Is that what you’re saying?” 

“Well, your nipples are on show today.” Niall points out. Harry, taking the opportunity, looks down at Louis’ nipples that are poking through the white fabric of his low-collared shirt, the piercing also visible. It’s hardly cold in here, and Harry briefly wonders if Louis’ nipples are just always erect. He flits his attention back up only to find Louis watching him.

But instead of pinning Harry for it, Louis turns to Niall. “And what about it?”

“I should pinch them, then, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah?” Louis’ brows fly up. “I’d like to see you fucking try, mate.”

“I wonder who’s gonna be asked the most questions today.” Liam says conversationally. “Louis or Ziall.”

“Is that what they are?” Harry wonders aloud. “Ziall?”

“It’s either that or… Nayn.” Niall says with a laugh. 

“Will probably be me.” Louis replies to Liam. “Since he’s here, and that.”

Harry looks at him. Louis doesn’t meet his gaze. He’s ignoring him. 

“You mean me?”

“_Yes_, Harry.” Louis huffs, shifting in his seat and adjusting his clothes. “Obviously.”

At this, Zayn glances up from his phone and peers at Louis. There’s a slight pinch to his mouth and he slides his gaze over to Harry. He just shrugs, so Harry shrugs too. 

When they arrive at the interview, neither of them bother with the protocol. Harry doesn’t feel the need to implement it and Louis doesn’t seem to want to be in Harry’s presence at the moment, so they walk in there like they’re not a couple. It makes it less weird with Niall and Zayn not being outwardly couple-y either, and Harry wonders if it’s on purpose.

Harry sits behind the camera like he did at the photoshoot, and the boys are all seated on one couch. Louis’ still antsy — constantly bopping his leg, fiddling with his fringe, annoying one of the other boys, whispering things — and in turn, of course, Harry can’t stop staring. 

He’s unsure as to why Louis’ suddenly so wound up. He’d been fine at the dinner last night, _cuddly_, even. Maybe he’s homesick. Or more fittingly, L.A-sick. Harry doesn’t really know where Louis’ home is. 

“Now, your tour has sold _out_,” The interviewer grins, “Huge congratulations on that, by the way.”

The boys all thank her with big smiles and she asks them how they celebrated. “We had a dinner, us boys and Harry.” Niall tells her. “Turned into a little party. We’re absolutely stoked.”

“As you should be, it’s huge! Your first world tour.” She taps the cards in her hand, then says, “And Harry as in Styles, right? I saw some photos of him and Louis around here in London yesterday. Very, very cute. How’s it all going?”

Louis nods, keeps a smile on his face. “It’s going good, thanks, yeah. He’s great, obviously, so. Definitely can’t complain.”

She laughs easily, “And I know that _you_, Zayn and Niall, are still going strong. You look very happy, can I just say.” Niall instinctively places a hand on Zayn’s thigh and Zayn looks at him with love. “So, what about you, Liam?”

“I know!” Liam says with a laugh, “I’m the only one!” 

Harry spots Louis staring at him, then. His gaze is somewhat intense, and he’s still for a moment. Harry smiles at him, unable to help it, but Louis doesn’t return it, just holds the contact for a second or two longer and then looks elsewhere like nothing happened at all. 

.

Louis shuts the door forcefully behind him once they enter the room. It’s like déjà vu from the photoshoot, except this time, Louis looks like he’s about to burst. 

In the car on the way home, he was silent, but the heat radiating from him was unmissable. 

“I don’t want you.” Louis announces with a pointed finger directed at him. 

Harry scratches at the hint of stubble forming on his chin. “O…kay?”

“Do you know how annoying you are?” Louis continues, fringe swooped perfectly up and across his face, his chest hair poking out from where his neckline dips down. He’s got black tights on, material sticking perfectly to his body. “You’re, like, smug. You do this smug face.”

Harry tries not to laugh. “Smug face?”

“_Yes_. Like you know exactly what you’re doing.” Louis runs a hand through his hair. “Drives me insane.”

“Is that why you’re all on edge today?” Harry asks, leaning up against the wall and folding his arms over his chest loosely. “‘Cause of my smug face?”

“That, and because I’m not allowed to room with anyone else, it just has to be you. Because of your stupid fucking rule.”

“Is that…” Harry’s brows pull together and he leans off the wall with concern. “Are you not sleeping well, or—?”

“God, Harry!” Louis rolls his eyes and walks over to the bed to sit down. Harry follows him, and sits down a little bit more gentle. He waits. Then Louis sighs. And then mumbles something incoherent.

Harry blinks. “What?”

Louis sighs again, then repeats it louder. “I don’t know if I can keep this strictly professional. Do you know how _hard_ it is when all your, like, pheromones are stinking up the place constantly? I haven’t had sex in a thousand years!”

Honestly, Harry can’t help the smile already on his face, so when Louis finally looks at him, he shoves him lightly. “This is music to my ears, Lou.”

Louis grunts. “I liked it better when I hated you.”

“I didn’t.” Harry replies, then scoots closer, “C’mere.”

Louis makes an indignant sound in his throat, blue eyes filled with hesitance. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Harry doesn’t have to think about it for a second longer to know that it’s a terrible idea. He’s been down this road before, experienced the crash when it ended. But what Louis said at the lake had been right — once this is finished, Harry will be out. Completely. He’ll get to go on many dates with many different guys and not have it blow up into a sex scandal or a breakdown because they’re not women. He knows that Louis’ temporary, a somewhat stepping stone. And Louis knows this, too, has told Harry this in his own words. Which means that it’s not a good idea at all, but it’s also not the end of the world. 

“Would the answer to that make any difference?” Harry asks him, and watching the way the smile slowly creeps up on Louis’ face sends a rush to his heart. 

“Not really.” Louis says, then leans in to kiss him. 

It’s not surprising anymore, Harry’s felt Louis’ lips many times now. But it still sends waves throughout him like it’s the first time, and he’s certain it’s from pure adrenaline. Louis must feel it too, because he deepens the kiss almost immediately, fingers shifting to Harry’s hair and tugging it.

The sensation goes straight to his dick, and he breaks away from Louis briefly, all this built up tension suddenly hitting him at once. “Are we gonna do more than just make out this time? ‘Cause, like, I’m gonna need—“

Louis giggles, and when Harry follows his gaze, he notices the present outline of his own jeans. Louis’ hand touches the inseam of Harry’s thigh, the opposite one to where his dick lays. Tease. 

“See?” Louis whispers, “Room’s cursed.”

Harry locks their eyes and he sees how blown Louis’ pupils are, how red his mouth is. “Yeah. Cursed.”

He kisses Louis again, feels the way Louis’ fingertips slowly trail up to Harry’s crotch, before finally pressing against Harry’s outline, making him inhale sharply and pull apart yet again when Louis tries to unbutton Harry’s jeans. 

“Let’s do you first.” Harry tells him, sliding his hand to Louis’ thigh and grabbing the inside of it firmly. 

“Why?” Louis asks, focus pinned on Harry’s mouth. 

“Trust me,” Harry says with a grin, “This room’s seen my dick way too many times.”

Louis’ brows pull together slowly, “Do I even wanna kno—?”

“Probably not.” Harry says, then kisses Louis once more before he slides off the bed, manoeuvring himself onto the floor as he holds their gaze. He inspects at the material on Louis’ legs, how tightly it clings on him, and slides his hands up them slowly. “Any idea of how to peel these off?”

When he doesn’t get an answer, Harry sits back on his heels and flits his gaze up to Louis’ face. He’s staring down at Harry with shock, almost. His mouth is open slightly and his eyes are glazed over. Harry smiles at him, and tilts his head to the side with question. 

“Er,” Louis blinks, “Did you— what did you say?”

Harry prevents a chuckle, then lifts off his heels to let his fingers dip into Louis’ waistband. “I said I might need help with tearing these off, Lou.”

“Christ. Yeah.” Louis lets out a small laugh. “It’s a mission for me every day. I just… hang on.” 

Louis lies back on the bed, and then without warning, his hips raise upwards, dick very much so in Harry’s face. He juts his bottom lip out in appreciation and doesn’t move as Louis audibly struggles to get the almost-liquid leggings over his bum. 

“Here,” Harry says as he stands up, and then laces an arm around Louis’ body that’s off the mattress. Without clarification, Harry picks Louis up and shifts him further up the bed, messing up the covers, before laying him back down, reaching behind Louis with both hands and tugging down the pants in one swift tug. 

Louis’ shock is forevermore present as he stares at him again, “What the fuck?” He barely says, before pulling Harry in by the neck and kissing him. “I’m so hard.”

Harry reaches down and feels his dick laying against his thigh. Louis moans into his mouth at the sudden pressure and pulls Harry impossibly closer towards him. 

“God,” Harry groans, grabbing Louis’ dick by the base and squeezing once, just to hear the desperate sounds of Louis right next to his ear. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Louis’ hips buck up into his fist, and Harry strokes him slowly, watching as Louis’ eyes squeeze shut until he looks at Harry and tugs on his hair. “Hurry the fuck up.”

Harry laughs silently and dips down to press a small kiss to his lips, pace remaining the same. “How does it feel to be teased?”

“You should know.” Louis says, and when Harry stops and squeezes, Louis lets out a moan. “Ugh. Fucker.”

“Walking around with no pants on,” Harry tells him, stroking his length and feeling the desperate rise and fall of Louis’ chest. “Walking out with nothing but suspenders, knowing all the eyes are on you.”

“_Harry._” 

“Your body is incredible, do you know that?”

“You’re— you’re one to talk.” Louis tells him, his head suddenly leans back into the mattress, throat exposed when Harry rubs a thumb over Louis’ slit. “Being all sweaty… muscles on show.”

Harry hums, then leans down to suck Louis’ throat. He thinks he hears Louis’ moan, but his ears are filled with cloudiness, lust. “Like that, then?”

“Don’t get,” Louis suppresses a sound as he rolls his hips upwards, wanting more, “Cocky.”

Harry smiles against Louis’ throat, then focuses on picking up the speed. He feels Louis’ fingertips pressing into his back, hears Louis’ moans becoming shorter, more high pitched. Harry keeps going, his own dick filling up and aching in his pants. 

“C’mon, Lou.” Harry says in Louis’ ear, “Almost there.”

“Ha—_Harry_.” Louis’ voice breaks and Harry can’t help but let out a groan of his own and grind his hips down onto Louis’ thigh for some friction. “Your _hands,_ god.”

Harry leans back to get a better angle and works Louis faster. From here, he can see Louis’ face in clear view, face scrunched up whilst his hands scrunch the sheet, his high-pitched cries filling the room and spurring Harry on. 

He comes over Harry’s hand, and he guides him through it. 

“Good?” Harry asks, suddenly wondering whether it’d be too weird if he was to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek for comfort. But as he thinks this, he also realises his hand’s still on Louis’ dick. He takes it off after Louis nods, catching his breath. 

“Yeah,” Louis replies, once Harry rolls over onto his back. “Your turn.”

“I won’t last.” Harry tells him, unbuttoning and shoving a hand down his pants to grab his cock. He lets out a groan at the feeling, and also at Louis watching him. “Trust me.”

“Okay.” He hears Louis say faintly.

Harry pumps himself a few good times then comes, relaxing into the mattress, closing his eyes. 

He feels the bed dip a few times, and Harry only opens his eyes when Louis comes back, settling beside him. He holds out a tissue and Harry takes it, cleaning himself up. They don’t talk once they get ready for bed, changing into their pyjamas, and Harry hopes it’s because they’re both satisfied, content. 

There’s still doubt in Harry’s mind, though, so when he tucks himself into bed and Louis tucks himself into Harry’s side, he smiles a little, chest fluttering. 

“I’m glad we can do this,” Harry says, carding his fingers through Louis’ hair, “And have it not be weird.”

Louis hums in agreement, hand slowly stroking over Harry’s chest. “Same. Thank you.”

“Mm?” Harry looks down, but all he can see is Louis’ head of hair. “For what?”

“For just, like,” Louis sighs, “Being so easy? I know it’s hard, like, with me—?”

“Would you stop saying things like that?” Harry chastises, and Louis tilts his head to look at him. “You’re not difficult. This is the first time you’ve done anything like this, and with a person you _hated_ of all people, yet you’re the easiest PR relationship I’ve ever had, so.”

Louis smiles at him softly, “Do you really think I hated you?”

Harry laughs briefly, “I mean, _yeah_.” Louis laughs, too. “You’d, like, evil-eye me every chance you got.”

Louis dips his head and laughs into Harry’s t-shirt. “Well, then, I guess you’re a good teacher.”

Harry grins, “Guess you’re a good student.” Louis reaches around and pinches Harry’s side. Harry flinches, “Ow?”

But Louis just settles further into him and Harry shakes his head at nobody in particular. He’ll never be able to work out the complexities of Louis Tomlinson. 

“The lads adore you.” Louis says. “And I know they’re friendly and _good_, but… it means a lot to me when they love someone. Even if I don’t wanna admit that.”

Harry hums, understanding. “You respect them and their approval.”

Louis nods. “They’re really just… everything to me. As sappy as that bloody sounds.”

He laughs but it’s somewhat quiet. Harry moves his hand from Louis’ hair to his back, tracing patterns into his shirt. 

“It’s nice you have a family to experience all of this with, you know.” Harry tells him, “I was actually thinking about it after we got here and wondered why I kinda preferred this trip to all the rest. Like, when you’re alone on the road and experiencing all these wonderful things, it’s not as fun if you don’t have someone you can replay the moments with afterwards. So, I’m quite envious of what you guys have.”

Louis shuffles so his head pokes up from Harry’s chest, hair completely disarray and eyes now looking at him with wonderment. “You think we’re family?”

Harry glides his fingertips down Louis’ arm slowly, “I mean, sure. You love each other, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, yeah.” Harry shrugs. Louis settles back down on Harry’s chest, wrapping his arm tighter around his middle. “I think family’s whatever you want it to be. Sometimes you have to find it, or sometimes it finds you.”

The room’s quiet, and Harry’s sure Louis has dozed off. He closes his eyes, the weight of Louis on him comforting. It disappears for a moment, though, and then Harry feels Louis give him a fleeting kiss on the lips before he returns to his position. 

“Goodnight, Harry.” Louis whispers.

Harry smiles, “Goodnight, Louis.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one this time i'm sorry :( but an extremely long one next time i promise!
> 
> uni exams are coming up so please expect the next update in November. i love you all thank you <3

Louis hasn’t returned yet.

Harry’s trying to not make a big deal out of it, trying not to let him affect him as much as it does, but it’s hard when nobody will tell him _where_ he is or why.

He’d woken up alone, slept in and content. He’d initially wondered whether Louis had slept the whole night or not, or maybe he hadn’t slept at all and wandered off with regret of what they’d just done. Truth is, Harry only knows that Louis had stayed the whole night, and just woke up early today. He still doesn’t know the answer to the second part.

“Hey.” Harry looks over to Zayn who’s next to him, a half-smile on his face with his eyes kind and open. They’re the type that makes you feel like you could fall into them and be safe. He doesn’t have to wonder why Niall loses track of time whenever they lock eyes. 

“Hey.” Harry replies, offering his own half-smile. 

“I won!” Liam grins after placing down his last card and dismantling any conversation Zayn was just about to start. 

“You can’t win on a draw four, Liam!” Niall argues, picking up the card from the pile and putting it back in Liam’s lap where he’s cross legged on the bed. 

“Yes, you bloody can.” Liam says with pinched brows, placing the card back on the pile. “We’ve always played it like that!”

“The bloody _creator_ of Uno came out and said it, remember?” Niall tells him, “Can’t finish a game on draw fours, or wild cards, or—“

“Aw, cry me a river, Niall_er_.” Liam says, tapping him on the shoulder. “I won, you’re just gonna have to try extra hard to win in the next round.”

“Yeah?” Niall challenges, brows flying up to the ceiling, “I’ll show ya extra hard.”

He leaps over to Liam, tackling and moving the bed, Zayn and Harry slightly toppling from the movement. Liam pushes back, and then they both end up on the floor. 

“That’s not something you should say to someone,” Liam says in between grunts, “before tackling them.”

“Fuck off, Payne, and eat my armpit.”

Harry blinks, then whispers. “Is this a common occurrence?”

“Yeah.” Zayn says, nonchalant and with a shrug, “Usually after a few days of staying in one place altogether everyone gets a little rowdy.” Harry lets out a small chuckle, then looks down at his hands. He feels a brief nudge to his arm. “How’re you doing, then?”

“Mm?” Harry looks at him, “With what?”

Zayn shrugs. “With everything. London, work, life.”

“London’s fun, I like it. It’s quite big.” Harry tells him as the wrestling noises below them carry on. “Work’s okay at the moment, not too crazy and I kinda like where I’m at, you know, musically and professionally.” He sniffs,“Um, and then life’s… good. I guess.” Harry shrugs with a smile, “Can’t really complain.”

Zayn nods, like he understands, and then his eyes feel like they caress Harry’s soul, the comfort they exude entirely overwhelming. “And Louis?”

“What?” 

Zayn lets out a small chuckle. “You’ve been checked out ever since Niall told you he’d be out for the day. I can see it.”

“It’s not…” _like_ that. Except maybe it is. Harry hadn’t even noticed that he wasn’t himself today, despite understanding that his mind hadn’t thought of much else besides him. And Zayn’s onto it. God. 

“What did you say to him last night?” Zayn asks.

Last night. What _didn’t_ Harry say to him? Surely Louis didn’t tell the boys what happened without consulting him first? He knows they wouldn’t be acting this normal if they’d found out. Or maybe they would be, if Louis told them to. 

“Um,” Harry breathes in. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says, “Just seemed like he was on a mission when he left. Hadn’t seen him so focused and vibrant in… a long time, actually.”

Focused and vibrant.

Harry’s heart swells. Liam’s sound of victory chimes in the background.

“But… why do you think it’s something I said?” 

“Because he told me it was.” Zayn laughs, probably at Harry’s open-mouthed expression, “Don’t worry, yeah? He’ll be back by tonight.” He winks. “He told me that also.”

.

After dinner, Harry returns back to the room, ready to shower and then wait for Louis’ arrival.

As the day had stretched on, he’d become more antsy, his knee jittering and his focus more often than not peeled to his phone. _Louis’ a grown man_, he’d kept reminding himself, _he’s_ fine. 

But then he’d also remembered that day at the school. 

_“Do you ever worry about him?”_

_“Every day.”_

And it’s stupid, because he knows the boys would be first and foremost indicators as to whether they should worry or not. But Harry also worries about whether they have a blind spot when it comes to him, whether they believe Louis’ words so easily and don’t have the ability to understand the severity of a situation. And Harry also knows that Louis hasn’t been drinking, or taking drugs much at _all_ since they landed in London. Possibly the most sober Harry’s ever seen him consecutively, and he worries that Louis had had enough and relapsed, and is now at some bar or dingy club completely out of his mind. 

The last thought sends a terrible feeling to Harry’s stomach, closing his eyes as he enters the room. He wonders when on Earth he started feeling so much for this dangerous enigma. 

He has a long shower, taking his time washing his hair and singing whatever song comes to his head. Afterwards, he gets changed into something comfier, then walks over to the remote and turns the television on. When he goes to throw the towel that’s drying his hair into the basket, he notices Louis’ suitcase open, clothes disarray. 

“Louis?” Harry asks the room dumbly. He turns around to the balcony in case he’s out smoking, but it’s empty. 

He leaves and proceeds to knock on Liam’s door, then Zayn and Niall’s, but both come with no response. He takes the elevator in no shoes and goes back to the dining hall where the boys are still around the table— but no sign of Louis. He considers stopping and asking them if they know where he’s gone, but Harry suddenly has an inkling of where to find him. 

.

The room doesn’t have any lights on besides the ones in the pool, casting it in a blue hue, everywhere else dark. Louis’ sitting on the edge, pyjama bottoms rolled up to his thighs as the rest of his legs dangle delicately in the water. He’s looking at Harry with a slight smile, but his eyes are primarily confused. 

“Not supposed to be in here after hours, you know.” Harry tells him, padding across the room softly. 

Louis shrugs. “Could say the same to you.”

Harry’s smile grows. “Why’re you here?”

“Why are _you_ here?”

“Answer me then I’ll answer you.” Harry says as he sits down beside him, facing him. 

Louis looks at his feet, “Truth is, you snore in your sleep, so. Was just gonna doze off here instead.”

Harry lets out an airy chuckle, “So you’ve told me.”

“You can fix that, you know.” 

“Well, you kick in your sleep.” Harry tells him. “Can’t fix that.”

“I went to visit my family today.”

Louis’ eyes are down when he says it, the words coming out as casual as the topic previous, but the weight of it sits heavy in amongst the smell of chlorine, and without Louis moving his legs the room lays hauntingly quiet. His family.

He doesn’t know what to say. “You did?”

Louis nods, movement small. “Been meaning to try and find them since we got here, but what you said last night made me commit to it this time. And they’re— erm,” He sniffs but Harry doesn’t spot any tears in his eyes, “They’re really hard to track down. Don’t really give a shit about any of my step-dads but I wanted to find me mum and her kids, and kind of had a vague idea where they might be. Ended up finding ‘em in a shitty granny-flat in Yorkshire, squashed in together like a can of sardines.”

Louis looks like he’s talking to the water more than he’s talking to Harry and Harry allows it, taking in Louis’ profile and words, trying to unpack it all whilst also attempting to merely act as a soundboard for Louis’ voice.

“Fucking… _killed_ me, seeing ‘em like that. Me mum, she—“ He lets out a breath and bites the inside of his cheek. “She asked me who I was, when I opened the door. And when the twins came into view I didn’t recognise them, either.” He shakes his head, “Hardly saw them after they were born, y’know. Their dad kicked me out ‘cause there was no more room and I told mum it was easy for me to live out ‘cause I didn’t want her stressing over two newborns _and_ me.” He pauses for a moment, and when he looks directly at Harry it feels like all air leaves the room, the reflection of the water dancing gently on the side of his face. “Nothing has ever made me feel worse than today did, Harry.”

“Because she didn’t recognise you?”

Louis blinks away, “Because I flew in here on a fucking private jet. Because I’m staying at a five star hotel and have chauffeurs and breakfast buffets and _fucking—_” He sighs, brows scrunched together, “I’ve got all this money now and not one dollar of it have I spent on my family, or even tried to visit, like.”

He looks broken, the light sheen over his eyes making Harry shuffle instinctively closer, letting both his knees touch the side of Louis’ thigh.

“Hey,” He tells him, “You’ve found them now, yeah? You’ve worked hard to get to where you are, and in order to keep doing what you’re doing you had to stay in America. Don’t feel guilty about that.”

“She’s not stable, my mum.” Louis admits, and Harry doesn’t even know if he’s absorbing Harry’s words or if he even feels comforted by their new point of contact, just talking like he hadn’t heard a thing. Harry wonders vaguely if Louis _is_ drunk — he doesn’t smell alcohol, but the potency of the chlorine could mask that — and yet he finds himself still wanting to smooth out the crease of Louis’ brows with his thumb, the shadows from the lack of light making it seem attainable somehow. Then Louis continues talking and Harry refocuses immediately. “Growing up, there was always a different bloke in her life, always a new drug they’d put her on. Don’t think I ever really remember her being completely sober, to be honest.” He presses his teeth together, jawbone pulsing, and Harry’s heart drops at the words. “Fucking _hated_ every one of those cockheads, used to wish death on them every single day. Still do, actually. Then one of them knocked her up and he felt like he had a new sense of control. Like he finally had something over me.”

The more Louis reveals, the more Harry’s heart aches. He brushes his knuckles against Louis’ leg, rolling his lips together to stop his emotions from showing. “Did you spend time with her today?”

“Yeah.” He says, then smiles brightly. “As soon as I started talking she remembered me, then wouldn’t let me go.” Harry smiles, too, but he sees Louis’ disappear the longer silence goes on and it’s replaced by something else. “I really don’t know why I just told you all of that.”

“It’s okay.” Harry says on reflex, hoping Louis doesn’t spring away like he usually does, “I don’t mind listening.”

Louis looks at Harry’s face, then his gaze trails down to where Harry’s knees are pressed against him, to where his knuckles are still coaxing him through the fabric. Harry stops the motion. Louis doesn’t move away.

“Why did you come and find me?”

Without needing to think about it, Harry replies, “Because you weren’t there.”

Louis seems to consider this. Harry doesn’t feel bad for shamelessly staring at Louis’ face — it’s evening and they’re sitting by a deserted hotel pool and Louis’ revealed more to him in these few moments than he has for months — and Harry wishes he could wrap him in his arms without protest.

“I really want to push you in the pool right now,” Louis admits, honesty in his expression. Harry’s brows rise in amusement. “But I think I’ll just say thank you instead.”

God. Harry adores him so much. His fringe is flat on his forehead and his eyes match the reflection of the water, his voice slightly husky from tiredness and his body so close he really could push Harry into the pool.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

Louis looks up at him through his lashes from where he was staring at his hands, “What?”

Harry holds a hand to his own ear, “I don’t hear any gratification...”

A scoff and a nipple pinch later, Louis rises to his feet before Harry can get him back. When Harry jumps to his own feet he hears Louis yelp playfully and pick up his pace to leave the room.

“No running ‘round the pool!” Harry calls after him.

He receives a middle finger in response and Harry shakes his head at himself before chasing after him, wondering how his life has led him to this.

“Who’s running now?” Louis says, briefly looking back and then sprinting off faster out the door, unmistakably getting his wet feet and legs over the hotel’s carpet. 

“Still you.” Harry calls out, gaining speed and closing the distance. 

Louis tries to speed up, but as he weaves to avoid one of the pillars, Harry makes a swoop attack and bends slightly to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist and pick up him with ease. 

A gasp is heard as Harry proceeds to spin them both around. “Alright,_ alright_, Harold. Think you’ve proven your point, there.”

“Point?” Harry asks with a grin that is undoubtedly splitting his face. He sets Louis on the ground. “What point?”

“That you’re fucking… Hercules, or something.” Louis tells him, giving Harry an elevator look as he gestures to his body with one hand, the other one placed on his hip. 

Harry waggles his brows up and down. “Does that make you my Meg?”

Louis scoffs and he drops his hand as he rolls his eyes, proceeding to walk away. “Why are you _so_ bloody peculiar?”

“Why are you so bloody tiny?”

Louis stops walking and turns around to face him. Harry presses his lips together. Oops. 

“Huh?” Louis questions as he starts to stroll towards him. “You wanna play that game?”

“I mean… compared to _me_.” Harry manages as Louis comes further towards him. “There really is no comparis— oof.”

Louis steps back and admires his work. He’d pressed one of his wet shins against the front of Harry’s pyjama pants, creating a stain. Harry glances down at it with dismay. 

“There.” Louis says with a grin. “Now it looks like you’ve pissed yourself.” 

Harry scoffs as he pulls the material out to inspect it further. “No, it doesn’t.”

“It really, really does.” Then before Harry knows it, Louis’ shouting, “Everyone! Everyone! Harry Styles peed—“

His mouth is blocked by Harry’s hand as Harry looks around. It’s a few hours after dinner and they’re moments from the dining hall, just in the corner of the lobby where nothing really makes a sound. He feels a finger press to his cheek where his dimple must be present, and Harry’s focus zones back in on Louis.

From here, they’re so close that Harry can see the expansion of Louis’ pupils, his own reflection staring back at him. He slowly drops his hand from Louis’ mouth, and Louis removes his finger from Harry’s dimple, only to slide his hand behind Harry’s head and pull him in. 

Harry instantly grabs Louis’ hips with both hands, kissing him back and guiding Louis until he’s pressed up against the pillar. Louis grabs a hold at the curls at the base of Harry’s neck, and Harry moves his thumbs underneath Louis’ waistband, circling over his hipbones slowly. 

Louis presses one hand to Harry’s front and squeezes, making Harry disconnect and inhale sharply. Only to have the sound masked by Louis chuckling. “Wow, Harry, who knew you were this gone for me, eh?”

Harry blinks back at him, watching Louis’ smile and mischievousness still embedded in his expression. _Shit_, Harry immediately thinks, _Am I that obvious_? But then his hazy mind quickly catches on and he looks down, realising he’s referring to the wetness near his dick. 

“You’re a menace.” Is all Harry can think to say. Because it’s true.

“But you _are_ gone for me though, aren’t you?” Louis asks, teasing still in his tone but the seriousness presents itself stronger to Harry’s ears — especially with how Louis stops touching him,how his hold on Harry’s hair loosens, and how his eyes are flitting between Harry’s like they’re searching, waiting. 

Harry wonders if he is. He wonders, in the split second he has, if he’s gone for the boy that he’s got pressed against a pillar of a hotel they’re sharing a room at, who he’d spent the whole day waiting for, who he’d searched for and found because he knew where he’d be and he _missed_ him. And there’s caution in his expression right now, a touch-base question laced with jest to mask the concern. 

So Harry convinces himself this is nothing more than a friends with benefits situation… because realistically, it is. He only likes him because they’re friends now. Friends who make each other orgasm. Plus, they’ve almost spent the entire week together. After they fly back to L.A and separate, Harry will be able to breathe a little better, see a little better. Think better. 

“So narcissistic, you are.” Harry replies, smirk visible. It’s only somewhat fake. 

Louis’ eyes curve as he brings a smile, “I only learn from the best.”

Harry tilts his head to the side. “Are you calling me the best?”

“Ah,” Louis says, pressing a light finger to Harry’s chest to push him away slowly, “You _would_ say that, wouldn’t ya? You narcissistic, _bastard_.”

With his eyelashes thick and his accent thicker, Louis lets out one last chuckle before he dips out from Harry completely, and continues to move quickly away towards the elevator. Harry groans but he smiles all the same, obviously following wherever Louis takes him. 

.

“Harry. Styles. Mate,” Niall approaches him, slinging a comfortable arm around his shoulders, “What_ is_ the craic?”

Harry eyes him suspiciously. When they’d gotten to know each other, Niall’s Irish accent had caused more than most of Harry’s perplexed expressions, almost finding that he wished he’d taken up a lip-reading course when he had the chance. Now, he likes to think he’s become fluent in Niall — until he throws in curveballs like this.

“I’m sorry, craic?”

“It basically means ‘what’s happening’,” Zayn explains casually as he walks passed Harry’s other side, not bothering to stop, and just continues until he reaches Louis and Liam who are a few meters in front.

They’re about to leave the hotel for one last work commitment. This time it’s for some kind of commercial that One Direction have been roped into. Harry just hopes and prays that it isn’t one that involves half nakedness of any sort, for the sake of his sanity.

Last night, after Louis had sped off and Harry had followed, they’d caught the elevator up to their room and splayed on the couch for another hour or two, just watching odd shows and commentating back and forth. Louis had gone out for a smoke and Harry had joined him, the chilly air sobering enough to keep Harry’s foggy mind at bay.

“I really am happy that you had a good time with your family today.” Harry had told him, fiddling with Louis’ lighter as they sat on the chairs separated by a circular table. He’d watched as Louis’ lips quirked up around his cigarette. He’d finished his drag and flicked the ash off, locking eyes with Harry as he openly smiled, blowing out the smoke into the air.

He nodded a few times, “Me too, Harry. Me too.”

They’d sat in comfortable, easy conversation after that. They took turns having showers, then ended up beside each other in bed. Louis hadn’t kissed Harry goodnight or made any move to cuddle, so Harry hadn’t kissed Louis goodnight or made any move to cuddle, either.

And in the morning, Harry had woken up to Louis already awake and on his phone, greeting Harry with a smile and a good morning.

He’s been feeling unsatisfied ever since.

“So, then?” Niall prods his elbow into Harry’s arm.

Craic. Right.

“Uhh,” Harry scratches underneath his chin idly, dragging the word on until Niall surprisingly scoffs and laughs.

“It’s the last night in London, y’know.”

“Yeah.” Harry replies.

The doormen open the doors for the boys in front. Louis’ wearing grey sweatpants tucked into his socks and a beanie on his head. With each step he takes his hips sway side to side, the curve of his bum visible through the fabric with each sway, almost fucking hypnotising.

Harry blinks and tells the doormen a polite thank you when it’s his and Niall’s turn to exit.

Then Niall clears his throat purposefully loud when they’re minutes from the awaiting car and Harry whips his head to him, already hating the knowing smirk Niall’s got on his face.

“_What_?” Harry asks him desperately.

Niall’s mouth just pulls further into a grin, “Nothin’ at all.”

And then he taps Harry’s shoulder twice before letting go completely and enters the van. Harry clenches his teeth together and unclenches. Bloody hell.

But when he enters the van and sits down, he looks up and locks eyes with Louis who’s seated opposite him, and he’s smiling at him, so genuine and kind that Harry’s heart melts and he smiles back dumbly.

“Hi.” Harry says.

Louis blows out some air through his nose and Harry takes it as a laugh, even as Louis shakes his head and directs his attention to the window.

Harry takes a moment longer just to admire the way the colour of his eyes change in the light, and the way the sharp angles of his face contrast to his kid-like demeanour. Then he swallows harshly and focuses on what Liam’s telling the group instead.

Just one more day.

.

The commercial ends up being for a car.

Of course, it’s a One Direction commercial, so it’s not PG. Which is absolutely against the rules, Harry assumes. It’s a _car_, shouldn’t the sex appeal come from the product and _not_ the people selling it?

He knows that’s wrong as soon as he thinks it, and it probably _is_ PG, but with the way Louis’ standing near the vehicle with his full get-up is enough to make Harry crunch this piece of paper he’s got in his hand up into a very small ball.

“Cut!” The director announces for the third or fourth time. The boys stop, and then the director walks up to Louis for the third or fourth time and is way too close for comfort as he speaks to him.

Honestly, Louis’ not deaf. But this man has been almost _whispering_ directions to him the whole time they’ve been here and— oh. He just placed his hand on Louis’ shoulder.

Harry’s brows rise and he immediately scopes around to try and lock eyes with anyone backstage. Is this professional? Is it?

Then Louis laughs, the skin beside his eyes crinkling. The other boys don’t seem to notice.

Eventually, finally, the director steps away and orders them to go back to their places. As he walks back to his chair, he’s got a hint of a smile on his face.

“Did you get it?”

He looks to Harry, “Hey?”

Harry clears his throat. “Did you get the shot?”

The director blinks like he wasn’t expecting the question. He’s young, younger than anyone Harry’s seen in the directors’ chair. “Ahh, maybe. Not sure yet. Doing a few runs just to be sure.” He sits down on his chair and Harry rolls his lips together. “By the way, my mum’s a massive fan of yours.” He chuckles, then turns back to the set. “Okay, everyone! On your marks!”

Harry stands there for a moment. He runs his tongue across his top teeth and then crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his gaze back to Louis. 

He’s leaning against the car, looking down at his silver chained belt that’s hanging from his hip. He’s wearing black pants that cut off at the ankles and a singlet that’s tucked in, defining his figure. His hair’s in the same style similar to how he had it at the Grammy’s, and his eyeliner is fuller today, making his eyes more piercing than normal.

The camera pans the four of them, the boys posing like a photoshoot. Niall and Zayn look coupled up, draping over each other cooly while Liam’s on Louis’ side, perched down near the front tyre with his shirt completely off and giving the camera the most Liam-esque smoulder Harry’s ever seen.

An Arctic Monkey’s song plays in the background and it’s like Harry’s watching a music video for it in real time. The boys switch places, and then they’re directed to walk forwards in a strut. He overhears from one of the editors that that part will be in slow motion and Harry just pinches the bridge of his nose. One more day.

Then after a few shots of that, the director claps his hands. “Okay, guys! Now onto the fun parts, you ready?”

Louis smiles at him eagerly in response, putting up two thumbs. Harry hears the director chuckle. He faintly hears Zayn cheering in the background, too.

The director just gets out of his chair and walks straight up to Louis yet again. This time, he places a hand around his bicep and pulls him along the set, somewhere backstage. Harry pulls his brows together, focuses on the door they disappeared into. 

It takes a minute — or maybe less… probably less — for Louis and the director to reemerge. They’ve both got smiles on their faces, and Harry can’t help but deepen his frown. 

Then he watches as Louis scopes the room purposefully, and locks onto Harry’s gaze. His eyes brighten. 

“Harry!” He calls with a grin, then lifts up the object in his hand. It’s a Nerf gun. Harry’s face relaxes into a smile. Louis points it in Harry’s direction and pretends to shoot. “Pew! Pew! Pew!” 

The boys groan once they realise who’s in charge of the ammunition and the director returns to his chair, ordering make-up to touch up the boys, then tells them to get into their places yet again. It’s after Louis breaks character and shoots directly at Niall’s temple, that Harry’s phone rings. 

He shuffles out of the set surroundings and answers, “Nick, my man.”

Nick replies with a disgusted groan. “Don’t say that, that’s so Californian.”

“Funny, that. Since, y’know, I _am_ Californian.” 

Nick sighs. Harry smiles. Nick says, “So. How is everything? I trust that it’s all going smoothly judging by the fact that I’ve been endlessly ignored this past week.”

Harry winces. “Sorry.”He hears Nick tut-tutting on the other line. He looks up, focusing on Louis who’s running around the car and shooting menacingly at the other boys who have no form of protection except said car. “But, um, you’d be right. It’s actually going well. Like, really well.”

Nick’s inclined form of interest is definitely paired with a quirk of the brow, “Is that so?” 

“He’s just, like…” Harry sighs, leaning his back against the wall. “He’s just so different to what I expected. And we actually get along, now. Like, I think I get on with him better than the other guys at the moment. Which is crazy.”

“I told you he’s a good guy, didn’t I?”

He did. After Harry had ordered his driver to take Louis home from the party, Harry had turned to Nick and, essentially, broke down in front of him. He’d ended up telling Nick that Harry was supposed to pretend to be in a relationship with the same guy who’d passed out at his day event like a teenager, and he’d second-guessed every moment leading up to it. Nick had reassured him, then, that he would be fine because he knew Louis had a good heart. 

And Nick has always had the best judge of character. 

“We’ve, um… we’ve kind of been fooling around a bit. Together, I mean. Like, recently.” Harry waits for a response, but it never comes. “Nick?”

“Huh? Oh. I was waiting for you to say something that would shock me.” Harry rolls his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. “Of fucking course you’re fucking each other, Harry, c’mon. I’ve seen the pap pics of you both frolicking around in the park. You can’t fake that amount of chemistry. In fact, that’s exactly why I’m calling.”

Harry’s brows pinch together. “I thought you were calling because I haven’t been calling you?”

“Well, yes, but understandable, due to time differences and that.” Nick replies, “But, no. I’m… er, I’m worried. About this. I know how you get, Harry. Like, with Adriana—“

“I’m okay.” Harry says, leaning off the wall. “It’s— I’m only getting somewhat attached because we’re stuck in the same hotel room for consecutive days. ‘M not, like, in love.”

“Okay.” Nick says, sounding like he genuinely believes him. The pause between his words stretch longer than it should. “And Louis? How do you know he’s not in love with you?”

Harry feels even his blood freeze. He takes in a breath, turns to look at Louis once more. It seems like they’re done with the shots for now, taking a break. He’s laughing with Liam, a hand braced on Liam’s forearm as he tilts his head back with loud laughter. The sound echoes around the room and hits Harry, bringing him back into motion.

Zayn had told Harry that he was a romantic. Liam had told him that Louis feels happier around him, energetic. Niall had mentioned at the club opening that Luke was dangerous for Louis because he falls easily. That, in between the impromptu kisses, the long looks, the openings of his heart to him…

Harry feels his stomach constrict. _Could_ Louis be in love?

“Haz?” Nick questions. “‘Ave I lost you?”

“Uhm,” Harry clears his throat, shaking his head. “I don’t… Like, that’s. Um.”

“Christ.” Nick says bluntly, cutting off Harry’s mutterings. “Have you even asked him how he feels?”

“I have!” Harry says, “And he told me I was too nice to be his type. Or something.”

“Too nice? Harry!”

“What?” Harry whines back, “It’s not like he’s clear to read, Nick. I feel like I’m in a tennis match full of mixed messages with ‘im. It’s difficult to _know_, you know?”

“Alright, sheesh. Okay, here’s what we’ll do, yes?” Nick tells him. Harry fiddles with his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re gonna sit Louis down, and you’re gonna make a pact.”

“A pact?”

“Yes. A pact. One that swears that if either one of you feel like you’re starting to feel more than the other person, you break it off. Obviously, to the public it’s a different story, but you just follow One Direction’s PR manager’s advice from then on, yeah? You’ve only got one day left, right?”

Harry nods. “One day, yeah.”

“Alright, then it’s possible. That way you both have an agreement, and nobody gets hurt.”

Harry continues nodding, then spots Louis making his way towards him. “Alright. Um, I’ll do that. I have to go.”

“He’s walking towards you right now, innit?” Nick laughs, “Okay, Harry, be safe. Love ya.”

“I love you too, bye.” He hangs up just as Louis leans forwards and pokes Harry in the stomach. “Oof.”

“Who was that, then?” Louis asks with a raised brow, keeping his hand on his stomach, gripping on his t-shirt lightly. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” Harry smiles down at him, then caves and wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders, bringing him into his chest. Louis follows easily, resting his head against Harry and hugging him around his middle. “Is the shooting done?”

“I think so.” Louis mutters into Harry’s shirt. “Did you see my Nerf gun?”

Harry chuckles, runs his thumb up and down Louis’ back. “I did. Dangerous, giving you a weapon.”

“Calum said I was the perfect one to have it.”

“And who’s Calum?”

“The director.”

Harry’s brows rise, “Mm, did he now?”

“Yep.” Louis says, then lifts his head up from Harry’s chest before smiling up at him and pressing a kiss to Harry’s jawline. “C’mon, we gotta go.”

Harry’s stunned for a second or two until Louis makes a movement to leave, then Harry pulls him back in and presses a kiss to Louis’ lips, long enough for his stomach to flutter. 

Now he’s satisfied. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i'll update in november for sure!  
also me:

They decided to go out. 

Unbeknownst to Harry, the band had all planned to celebrate their last night together since the beginning of the trip. So when Niall had mentioned the plan with an Irish yodel and the three other boys had cheered and awaited Harry’s reaction with a grin, he could hardly shake his head and tell them he’d rather spend the night sleeping for the better sake of everyone involved. 

He had been hoping, actually, to get Louis alone and have the chat that Nick had provided for him. But now, as he and Louis are alone, Harry can’t seem to know where to start.

Louis’ at his suitcase, rattling on about his outfit choices for the night. Harry had been giving his full attention at the start, making suggestions and enjoying the way Louis had given him a slight preview of each outfit by holding it against his body, but slowly, Harry’s mind had started to drift.

_How do you know he’s not in love with you?_

Harry feels his heart pace a little faster, mind whirling.

“See, _this_, I feel, could be very club attire, right?” Louis says, holding up a red shirt before placing it down on the bed and tapping his finger to his chin, “But, ah, d’you think it strays too far from Fernando’s vision?”

Harry gulps, trying to listen whilst also trying to pinpoint any love-signs at all. 

Love-signs. Christ. It’s been so long since Harry’s had anything remotely real in terms of relationships that he’s forgotten what it’s like to receive somebody else’s admiration. Harry shakes his head at himself. This isn’t _real — _none of it is. 

“No?” Louis replies. Harry focuses on him. “Hmm, what d’you think, then, about a blue—“

“I think we—“ Harry cuts himself off, his voice coming out abrupt and with no sense at all. Louis tilts his head to the side slightly, eyes scoping Harry up and down, only now realising his changed demeanour. 

“You think we…?”

Harry clears his throat. He sits down on the bed, gesturing for Louis to do the same. He sits hesitantly, concern written on his face. “When I spoke to Nick… He sort of gave me some advice on, like, this.”

Louis blinks, “Oh. So, Nick knows it’s fake?”

“Yeah.” Harry says. “Um, anyway, so, he suggested that we do this thing, right, to save us from getting ahead of ourselves. Like, so, if you started feeling too much or if I did, then we have to be honest and break this up completely.”

“Ah,” Louis says automatically, as though giving an answer just to say something. But then his gaze falls down to his lap.

Harry scratches his neck, suddenly nervous. “Yeah.”

Louis flicks his fringe out of his eyes and looks at Harry with a small smirk, “So… I’m guessing this wasn’t in the contract, then?”

“Uh, no.” Harry says on a laugh. “This is all… um, me.”

“And Nick, too.” Louis points out. “And, I mean, this all seems quite self-explanatory to me. But is there…” Louis shifts on the bed, somewhat closer to Harry and his voice becomes softer. “Is there a reason this has all come about now, Harry?”

Harry shakes his head. “Just precautionary. You know.”

Louis inspects Harry for a moment or two, his smirk growing. “Mm, okay. Well, I agree.” He stands up from the bed and shuffles through some clothes before picking up some items. “I know what I’m going to wear, now.”

He proceeds to head towards the bathroom, Harry’s eyes tracking his every moment. “Wait, what is it?”

Louis just shrugs, “You’ll see!”

.

Harry’s fingers press into Louis’ hips as Louis wiggles in front of him, dancing to the song while Harry moves him through the crowd.

They’d been sitting in their designated V.I.P lounge for an hour, constantly getting bottles of alcohol delivered to their table and therefore consistently downing drinks. Louis told the group that he wanted a cigarette and Zayn had got up to go with him, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to leave them alone, especially with what Louis’ wearing tonight.

He’d strolled out of their bathroom and Harry had almost choked and died then and there. He’d settled on a white long-sleeved shirt but the material’s completely see-through except for where it collects at his wrists and where it zips down his chest. He’s paired it with white shorts, ones that stop mid-thigh and they’re slightly loose-fitting (thank god) but his ass is still accentuated whenever he pops his hip. And Harry had thought, as he stood there hopelessly in their bedroom drooling over his fake-boyfriend that, despite all the outfits he had witnessed in preparation for tonight, nothing could have prepared him for this.

He hates the way the men in the club look at Louis like they want to eat him up. Harry at one point swears he had to hold back a growl. It’s entirely insane and definitely not great for his blood pressure.

“Ahh,” Louis breathes out once they reach outside, smile on his face and contrastingly different to Harry, “Fresh air.”

“Ready to pollute it?” Zayn asks, already holding out his cigarette. Louis nods eagerly and takes it, then Zayn offers one to Harry and he declines. “You sure? Kinda look like you need it, mate.”

At this, Louis looks at him with concern. “Are you not having a good time, Hazza?”

Harry blinks at the nickname, face heating up from the alcohol. He looks into Louis’ imploring eyes, “‘Course I’m having a good time, Lou.”

“Good.” Louis says, then leans into him after he lights his cigarette.

Harry wraps both arms around him and pulls him in, leaning his head on top of Louis’. Zayn watches on with a smile.

“Y’know,” Zayn says, gesturing between the two of them with his finger, “If this wasn’t fake, you guys would actually be a cute couple.”

Harry’s thankful that the outside area had been roped off with security in order for them to escape, otherwise he’s sure they’d see unwanted headlines tomorrow morning.

“Mm, I know you say that because both Harry and I are indisputably hot,” Louis replies and Zayn snorts, “But realistically you know that we would never work.”

This brings a frown to Harry and he picks his head up, “Heyy. Why not?”

Louis moves out of their cuddle but still keeps close contact, and stares at Harry skeptically, “What d’you mean, Harry? We both know that.”

“Maybe at the beginning.” Harry reasons, “But I think we’d make a perfect couple, now.”

Slowly, Harry watches as Louis almost sobers up right in front of him, the silence that follows palpable. Harry’s own eyes start to widen and he flits his gaze over to Zayn, who’s looking at him open-mouthed and extremely amused.

“I mean, like, obviously that’s— no.” Harry shakes his head. “Just, like, theoretically we wouldn’t be awful. Doesn’t mean I want to.”

He feels the need to create a diversion, almost. Perhaps create an entire wall of smoke and then vanish. He’s also starting to realise that the heat on his face is not entirely from the alcohol.

“Of course.” Zayn says easily, face suddenly transformed like his eyes weren’t almost popping out of his skull. “And that’s what I meant, too. Theoretically.”

“Yeah.” Harry says, then swallows harshly. It’s not helping, having Louis’ eyes locked on him. He succumbs, though, and catches his gaze. It almost knocks him breathless.

He’s looking at Harry like he’s in awe, complete disbelief. It’s like his glazed eyes have cleared and Harry hates how they twinkle underneath the shitty orange lighting. His mouth is red from drinking and Harry can’t help but turn his attention to it, time stopping.

He truly doesn’t know if it’s the intoxication that’s making Louis paralysed from shock or if it’s something else, but if Louis doesn’t lean in and kiss him soon Harry’s positive that he’ll scream.

“Hey, Lou,” Zayn says, making both Harry and Louis blink.

Louis slides his gaze to Zayn, “Yeah?”

“Let’s go dance.”

Louis frowns for a moment. Harry instinctively grabs onto the material of Louis’ shirt. But then Zayn and Louis have a completely silent conversation in front of him and then Louis’ nodding.

“I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?” Louis tells Harry.

Harry’s heart quickens in pace, “Wait, no—“

“We’re just gonna go for two or three songs, alright?” Louis tells him, squeezing Harry’s hand. “Nobody’s gonna think anything of it, trust me.”

It takes a second for Harry to realise what Louis means by that. It makes Harry’s face screw up. “I’m not worried about that, Lou, I—“

“I’ll be with him at all times.” Zayn tells him. He presses his hand to the back of Harry’s neck. “You can see us from the balcony.”

Louis smiles at him, “Goodbye, Styles!” Then leans up and pouts his lips for a kiss.

Harry pouts his lips for a different reason. “It’s not goodbye.”

Louis stares up at him with a smile. He looks down at their shoes, fiddling with the front of Harry’s shirt, his cigarette already long forgotten. He gazes up through his lashes. “But if it is...”

Harry lets his mouth fall open comically and it produces a tiny chuckle from Louis. Harry moves in closer to him. “Well, then, if it _is_.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to Louis’ smiling lips. Harry loops his arm around Louis’ waist and tugs him closer, Louis’ fingertips pressing into his skin.

“Erm, guys,” Zayn says awkwardly, “You do realise that the doors are tinted, yeah? Nobody can see you.”

Louis parts with a blush, licking over his lips. “Oh.”

“Yeah, we know.” Harry replies. He smirks down at Louis and winks. “It’s practice.”

Louis smirks back at him and they both hear Zayn sigh. Then the door’s opening by one of the bodyguards and they all exit, but Harry has to watch as Zayn redirects the course and only guides Louis through the crowd towards the dance floor. When he can’t see them anymore, Harry returns back to the lounge where Niall and Liam are.

“Where’s—?”

“Down there.” Harry replies, kneeling on one of the couches and peering over the barricade, scanning the area. “Can you see ‘em?”

“Let me just...” Niall shifts his position until it’s the same as Harry’s. “I’ve read that you can spot your soulmate amongst a crowd of thousands. I should be able to tell you in about—“

“There.” Liam says, making both Harry and Niall’s heads whip towards him.

Niall mutters something indistinguishable as Harry follows Liam’s finger. And there, sure enough near the bar and DJ, are Zayn and Louis.

They don’t look like they’re dancing much, more so whispering into each other’s ears. Harry does a quick scan of the people around them, spots two middle-aged men nudge each other and cock their heads towards Louis and Zayn in interest. Harry narrows his eyes.

Niall laughs. “Looks fun as fuck down there, doesn’t it?”

“I suck at dancing in clubs.” Liam admits. “I don’t know how Zayn and Lou do it.”

“Well, Tommo’s always had the body for it,” Niall comments, “And Zayn’s always just followed his lead, I s’pose. Doesn’t really have to do much, does he? I mean, Christ. Just look at him.”

Louis sways his hips side to side, occasionally bouncing on his toes with his arm up, ass jiggling. Zayn’s holding onto his hand and they move together. Harry scopes the area around them once more and bites the inside of his cheek.

“Does it ever worry you, Niall?”

“Mm, what does, mate?”

“Like,_ this_?” Harry gestures to the dance floor. “Zayn there on his own with a bunch of strangers, everyone... looking at him?”

Niall seems to genuinely contemplate this for a moment. Then he hums. “Used to, I think. Like, before we got together and before I completely acknowledged my feelings, it used to make me feel a bit sick whenever we’d go out ‘cause I know Zayn would always pull. Was weird, ‘cause like Liam and Louis would, too, but I’d never feel shit because of that.” He laughs at himself, probably because of his own obliviousness. Harry just locks onto Louis. “But now? Nah, I’m not worried. I know he loves me. If that’s what you’re asking.”

Harry nods. Then says, “But... the other guys out there. The creeps.”

“Mate,” Liam chips in, already finished with the barricade position and is sitting down, filling up a row of shots, “As long as Zayn’s got Louis and as long as Louis’ got Zayn, they’re absolutely golden. Trust me.”

“I can vouch for that.” Niall says. “One time, we were at a club in Barcelona, and I’d gotten way too drunk so Liam brought me back to the tour bus. Once Liam returned back to the club, he found the two of them outside on the street laughing their arses off. You’d never guess what happened.”

“What?” Harry presses.

“Zayn had been in the bathrooms, right, and this dude had come in and approached him, all creepy-like. Thankfully, Louis had been throwin’ up in one of the stalls and heard the entire thing, stormed out and punched the dude square in the face!” Niall claps once at the memory in sheer elation, “They got kicked out, obviously. But, man, what a fucking legend.”

Harry finds himself smiling, heart blooming. He looks down at Louis. He’s currently hugging Zayn tightly, Zayn saying things into his ear.

“So stop stressing, Harry, and have some fun!” Liam urges, and Harry notices the row of shots ready for the taking. “C’mon!”

.

Harry stumbles out of the bathroom and pushes his hair away from his face with a laugh. The music around him thumps in direct time with his heart and his eyes are slightly fuzzy when he moves.

He hasn’t seen Louis for a while, but with Liam and Niall’s reassurances, he hasn’t felt the need to find him. Instead, he’s gone and gotten himself extremely obliterated.

He makes his way over to the sound of Liam’s laugh, then plops himself beside him, eyes adjusting to the side of Liam’s face.

He’s like a sturdy brick, Liam. He’s predictable and reliable and he’s fun to tease, he understands why Louis does it now. But he’s sure Louis wouldn’t tease a brick, actually. Or maybe he would, and he’d tell him that he’s too hard. 

Harry laughs to himself. The noise brings him back to the present, and he refocuses on Liam’s face.

“…was like she’d just been told the most insulting insult she’s ever heard in her life!” Liam says to Niall, who’s cracking up with his hands on his belly. “I didn’t even get a chance to show her the door, she just left!”

“Imagine...” Niall gasps for air, “Imagine, fucking... gettin’ it on with someone, then out of fuckin’ nowhere you feel some shit hit y’head. Imagine how she felt.”

“He wasn’t even apologetic!”

Niall laughs louder, Harry smiles at the sound. “Did she even know he was there?”

Liam stops for a moment, then his face changes with realisation. “Christ. Probably not even, now that I think about it.”

Niall leans forward and continues laughing, face scrunched and tears welling. Harry begins to wonder if they’re all as drunk as he feels right now.

Liam acknowledges him and places an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “How’re you goin’, Styles?”

“Good.” Harry replies. “Great. I’m fun.” He narrows his eyes, shakes his head, hair falling over his face. “’M havin’ fun.”

“That’s good to hear, Harry.”

But it doesn’t come from either Liam or Niall, and Harry immediately springs to life, brows upwards and mouth agape. “Lou!”

He stands up and envelopes a laughing Louis into a hug, firmly ignoring Zayn’s muttered, “And fuck me, I guess,” then followed by Niall’s overly ecstatic greeting.

Harry hugs Louis until he’s satisfied, the two of them squeezing each other and eventually rocking side to side as though it’s been an eternity. Harry regretfully pulls back a little to see Louis’ face. “Have a good dance?”

Louis nods with a smile, “Could you see us?”

“I could.” Harry says, then frowns, “Although I stopped watching after a minute or two and got pretty drunk instead.”

“Yeah,” Louis says without laughing, eyes scoping him like he’s taking him in, attention settling on Harry’s mouth, “You are quite the pretty drunk.”

Harry feels a sudden heat rush south and he takes in a breath. “What are— I mean, are you? Are you drunk?”

“Not quite,” Louis grins, then reaches up and places a hand against Harry’s cheek, just resting there. “I do feel good, though.”

“I could make you feel good.” Harry says without thinking. Yet boldly, he follows it up with his hand trailing down Louis’ back to cup his bum firmly.

He watches as Louis’ eyes shine. “Mm. You already do.”

Harry inhales sharply. Louis’ gaze flickers down and settles on Harry’s lips. Harry licks them unintentionally and watches with intensity as Louis’ own mouth slightly parts. They’re moving closer without realising, Harry swears. Then their foreheads touch and Harry closes his eyes.

Harry’s already gone, is the thing. His dick’s twitching in his pants like a maniac and his brain is only giving him one coherent thought.

So he follows it and brings Louis closer, kissing his mouth and squeezing his ass. Louis reciprocates it immediately, sliding the hand that’s on Harry’s cheek into his hair and tugging at the strands as he opens his mouth and licks into Harry’s like he’s been yearning for it.

Harry gains a surge of energy and nudges his knee between Louis’ thighs, guiding them open. Louis then nips at Harry’s bottom lip and Harry groans hungrily. He uses both his hands to grasp at Louis’ ass and grinds both their hips together as close as possible before he separates their mouths and dips down to mouth at Louis’ neck.

“Shit.” Louis breathes, close enough to Harry’s ear so he can hear him over the atmosphere. “Harry. I... Jesus, we need to—“

“Mates, fuckin’ hell.” Niall announces, suddenly extremely close to the two of them. “Take it home already. People are staring.”

Harry burns with want and he doesn’t want to stop, mouthing gently on Louis’ skin. He just needs to get Louis undressed and lay him out on their bed, wants to hear him without the noise from anyone else.

“Harry,” Louis says, “Let’s go to our room.”

Harry groans in agreement, detaching himself from Louis only to link his hand with his own, and pulls him away from the lounge. He hears Louis and the boys say goodbye to each other but Harry’s so focused on moving though the crowd and getting into a car that he doesn’t stop to notice anything else.

As soon as they exit the club they spot their driver waiting and Harry opens the door for Louis as they hop in.

Anticipation and excitement courses through Harry’s veins and he feels as though he can literally sense his skin pulsing with it. He’s unable to stop his dopey grin from staring at Louis, and when Louis catches his eye, he snorts and pushes Harry’s face against his hand.

“You look incredible.” Harry tells him earnestly as Louis’ palm still rests solidly on the front of his face, his words coming out slurred and slightly muffled from it.

Louis laughs, then slides his hand slowly down until it drops off completely. Harry just lets it happen.

“Can’t believe I’m the one that gets to go home with you tonigh’.” Harry continues.

“Oh my god.” Louis replies, eyes to the roof of the car. “You’re ridiculous.”

They pass buildings and street lamps and the lights dash across Louis’ face, highlighting the suppressed smile hidden there. Harry edges closer to him, pulled in.

“Everyone in that club wanted you.” Harry tells him. Louis looks at him again and Harry thinks he’s looking at him like he’s gone crazy. “It’s true. Felt like they were all wolves and I had to take them down one by one.”

Louis chuckles as he frowns, shaking his head slowly, “Harry... what are you even saying over there?”

“Everyone wants you, Louis.” Harry feels the car slow down. “Me, the most.”

Louis blinks at him. All amusement vanishes and he watches Harry carefully. “The most?”

Harry nods. “As much as someone could want someone else.” He grins unabashedly. “I really am excited.”

Then Louis’ face splits in two and he’s laughing loud and shameless. Harry has no idea why it’s so funny but he laughs, too, eyes locked on Louis’ glowing face. He realises the glow is actually from the hotel’s garage lights, then also realises they’ve stopped completely.

“C’mon, idiot.” Louis tells him, pressing a thumb to Harry’s cheek, “Let’s go inside.”

.

When Louis kissed him in the club, Harry felt like all the alcohol had disappeared from his system completely and he could finally think with a clear head. He understands now, as he lies on the floor after tripping over himself from trying to kick off his shoes, that he also does not remember the journey from the carpark to his room. And that he’s still ridiculously drunk. 

“Are you okay?” Louis asks from above him, outwardly trying not to laugh at him, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth. 

Even like this he still sets off gardens in his chest. Blooming, blooming, blooming…

“I need help.” Harry tells him, reaching out.

“Of course you do.” Louis says, then takes both of Harry’s hands with his own. Harry grins at himself, then tugs Louis down gently enough to lets Louis collapse right on top of him. “Harry, you—“

“Shh,” Harry whispers as he wraps his arms tightly around Louis’ body and shuts his eyes with a smile. 

“What is happening.”

“Shhhhhh, Lou.” Harry tells him. “Cuddles.”

He hears Louis huff in defeat and relax into it, his head resting in Harry’s neck. They lay there for a moment or two. The backs of Harry’s eyelids make him dizzy but he’s got a comforting weight on him and that makes it okay. He doesn’t know when exactly he started to drift off, but with the movement of Louis shifting to get up, Harry feels like he’s been pulled out of a sleep. He makes a weak noise of protest.

“C’mon, Hazza. Get to bed.” Louis tells him, now kneeling on the ground, bum resting on his heels. “We can cuddle where it’s cosy.” 

Harry nods to himself. Bed sounds nice. He struggles to collect himself, but once he’s kneeling he gives him a sultry look. “Cuddle… amongst other things.” He finger-guns. 

“You did not just—“ Louis shakes his head and presses his hand to cover his eyes. “You, sir, are gonna be a sight in the morning.”

“You’re a sight in the morning,” Harry continues, pushing himself to stand up. “Y’make me hard. Like, always. Even when you don’t mean to.”

He thinks he sees Louis’ jaw clench as he swallows, but Harry’s too focused on crawling into bed to even focus on it. The mattress feels amazing, and he collects a pillow and holds it to his chest as curls up into it with a pleasant moan. He feels the bed dip in front of him, and then light fingers on his face, brushing a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. 

Harry thinks this could be his happy place. He has to tell Gemma. She’s always telling him to find things like that. 

He wonders if this is Louis’ happy place, too. He opens one eye and instantly smiles at the sight. Louis’ sitting down on the bed, slightly turned to face Harry, his eyes soft and pupils large, returning his smile as he continues to stroke Harry’s hair. 

“Hi.” Louis greets, voice faint. 

Harry smiles wider. “Hi.” He watches him for a bit, hopes that maybe if he does it often enough that he’ll be able to replay it back in his mind like a movie. He doesn’t feel dizzy anymore, his vision’s cleared. “Were you as dizzy as me? Before?”

Louis laughs silently. “No, not quite.”

Remarkably, Harry thinks back to the club, how Louis had responded the same to when Harry asked him if he was drunk. 

“You said you weren’t quite drunk, but you felt good.” Harry rolls his lips together and shifts so he can open both eyes and look at him. “Did you drink?”

“‘Course I did.” Louis tells him. His own gaze is focused on his own finger, watching it as it trails down the side of Harry’s face. His expression reminds Harry of how artists watch their paintbrushes glide across a canvas. “But I also took some MD with Zayn, so I’m a little more switched on than you are, right now.”

He smiles like he does when he teases, and taps a finger to Harry’s nose briefly. 

With the calming touch gone, Louis’ words settle in and it causes Harry to frown. “Louis…”

Louis catches Harry’s change in expression and mimics it. “What?”

“Well, isn’t that, like,” Harry lifts up a hand and lets it fall back down onto the mattress, resembling a shrug, “Bad for your image?”

As far as Harry knows, the only reason why he got to be this close to Louis is because of One Direction’s drug scandal. He’d hate to think about if they woke up tomorrow morning and they’d been captured taking even more drugs. Then they might be forced to break up. And Louis might be forced to pretend with someone else. Harry frowns deeper. 

“My image?” Louis asks, brows raised. “Or do you mean your image?”

“No.” Harry states, matter-of-fact. “‘Cause, like, with the Liam thing.” Harry sniffs, but Louis doesn’t reply straight away. He mustn’t get it, then. Harry’s never done anything other than weed before, he’s not sure if Louis’ even hearing him correctly. “But also, like,” He shifts so he’s slightly sitting up. “Fuck our public image and shit for a second. Just, fuck it.” He’s probably mumbling, slurring, maybe that’s why Louis’ looking at him like he’s trying to figure him out. “I also thought you wouldn’t do all that anymore, since your mum—“

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Ringing. There’s ringing in Harry’s ears as soon as he realises what he’s just said. Something heavy sits in his gut and he sits up quickly, dizziness returning. 

“I’m sorry. Holy shit. That didn’t—“

“No. Y’know what?” Louis moves off the bed and stands. He gestures between them. “_This_ is why we’d never work. You’re so… fucking entitled.” He scoffs in disbelief. “How dare you bring up something like that? I told you that shit in _confidence_, Harry. Only a very select few know about it and you’ve just made me realise I should never trust you at all. Fuck you.”

He turns away and starts to look for something. Harry feels his entire mouth go dry, his voice lost somewhere in the unknown. He just shakes his head. 

“No. No, no, no, no,” His words come out hoarse but he’s desperate for Louis to hear. “I promise I didn’t mean anything hurtful. I only worry—“

“Well, that’s your first mistake.” Louis mutters, kicking around and sifting through the clothes left on the floor from earlier in the night. Harry feels the flowers in his chest start to wilt. “What I do is none of your business from now on, alright? We fucking work together, that’s it. Stop… _pretending_ that you care about me.” He finds what he’d been looking for and pockets it. He turns to Harry and stares him down. “You chose me ‘cause I’m a risk, remember? So shouldn’t I be doing all the drugs in the world? Shouldn’t I be even more catastrophically rebellious so it makes you look more ‘edgy’? Isn’t that what this is all fucking for?

“_No_, it’s not.” Harry moves to the edge of the bed, closer towards him. “I fucked up. I’m sorry. Louis, honestly, I—“

“Forget it, Harry.” Louis tells him, lowering his eyes. “‘M goin’ out for a dart.”

Harry watches him leave. He doesn’t go to the balcony and instead leaves the room entirely. Harry doesn’t follow.

.

Louis’ right, usually, about a lot of things. Today, it’s that yes, Harry is a sight to wake up to. 

He stares at himself in the mirror. His face puffy from crying and his eyes red from either that orlack of sleep. His hair’s completely unmanageable and he’s got a pillow crease on his cheek from not moving for many hours. 

He’d considered calling Louis, texting. He’d considered leaving and going to the pool, waiting for him in case he showed. He’d considered contacting the other boys, too, letting them know what happened and whether they should be on high alert. 

But he didn’t do any of that and instead stayed completely still, just holding onto that piece of hope that Louis would return and he’d apologise a million times and a million times more and things would just go back to the way they were. 

Except Louis never showed and Harry didn’t hear from him until the very early hours of the morning when he heard the other boys come home and the soft, raspy sound of Louis’ voice through the walls. Harry stayed awake after they all went silent, and then the sun rose pretty soon, after that. 

He knows Louis’ mood will be evermore shocking today since he’ll be coming down from the drugs, and as he remembers in the shower, their flight is quite early today which is something that none of them had considered when planning a night out the day before. He thinks he recalls the band manager’s attempts at guiding them to stay in instead, but Louis had just called him an old man and ran away. 

Harry feels like shit. Even as he steps out of the shower, brushes his teeth, does his hair and gets dressed, he still feels like utter shit. Not even because his head is pounding and his stomach is splitting in two from hunger and he’s so lethargic that even his fingertips struggle to move. It’s the terrible feeling of disappointing someone, the terribleness of hurting someone you love. 

Harry widens his eyes and it hurts from the dryness. He immediately closes them and shakes his head. “You’re fucking hungover.” He tells himself, throat sore. 

With hours to spare since it’s still only sunrise, Harry decides to order some breakfast from room service and pack his suitcase, and after slight deliberation, packs Louis’, too. At around half eight in the morning, Harry’s halfway through his breakfast when the room’s phone rings. Concierge tells him that it’s a wake up call and they need to be downstairs soon. 

They must have called the rest of the boys at the same time because as Harry sits in silence, he can hear the muttering of Liam and Louis in the next room, and then the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing. Harry pulls off a grape from the stem and rolls it between his fingers. 

Overnight, Harry’d thought a lot. He thought about how much Louis has shared with him over this short trip, how easily it was for them to connect and how much they’ve grown to like each other. They weren’t colleagues at this point and that much was certain. But Harry now realises it’s been Louis doing all of the talking, all of the sharing. Harry’s barely made an effort to reciprocate anything substantial or meaningful in return. And he knows Louis’ not asking for that or looking for it, but Harry feels it’s unfair, in a way. 

He’s so lost in thought, staring at the grape in his hand, that when the door swings open Harry startles and drops it onto the plate. 

Louis stands there in the room, eyes firstly sweeping over Harry momentarily, then at the fruit platter on their bed. “I’m, erm, here to pack me shit.” He looks around the room until his eyes locate his already-packed suitcase next to Harry’s own. His expression is unreadable. 

He’s dressed in what are undoubtedly Liam’s clothes. The tracksuit pants fit him well except they’re rolled up at the ankles. The hoodie is entirely too big for him, looking like he’s swimming in it. His hair’s in more of a disarray than Harry’s was this morning, and his eyes look barely open, not having had a chance to wake up at all, yet. 

“I, um, I hope you don’t mind.” Harry blurts out, unable to help it. “I kinda packed it for you.” Louis looks at him, then, and it makes Harry swallow, rough. “Breakfast?”

“Just fruit, is it?” Louis asks, slowly walking closer and peering at the platter. 

“Yeah. Not much of a hangover cure. Kinda regret not getting the pancakes.”

“Mm.” Louis replies. He picks up a cut piece of strawberry and bites into it. “Thanks for packing.”

“Not a problem.” Harry says, possibly a bit too earnest. Louis begins to roll out his suitcase and leave, and Harry’s heart lurches. “Wait, Louis.”

He’s prepared for Louis to ignore him but he waits, even turns and says, “Yes?”

Harry clambers off the bed and stands but still keeps some distance. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Honestly, I will. I _will_ make it up to you.”

Louis actually considers it for a moment. They hear the sound of the three other boys leaving their rooms and groaning in tiredness. Louis looks in their direction, then eventually back at Harry. 

“Make it up to me by leaving me alone today.” 

It’s said in such a polite way that it doesn’t sting until Louis’ left the room. And then it stings so bad that Harry wraps his arms around himself and wills himself not to cry. 

.

The plane ride home is nothing like the plane ride there. 

Everyone’s surviving off of coffee alone, and if anything loud is heard the boys all groan and complain. The cabin is filled with either muffled sounds of movies or music through headphones, or snoring from catch-up sleep. Harry doesn’t say a word most of the trip. He sits as far away from Louis as he can, but he can still spot him a few metres in front, and every glance at him just adds fifty pounds to the weight already existing in his gut. 

He manages to sleep most of the eleven and a half hours. He still feels like death when they land, though. And he feels even worse after he hugs good-bye to Liam, Niall and Zayn before having to sit in a car with Louis, ready for the ride home. 

It’s completely quiet, of course. Louis doesn’t face him and the tension is so solid that it’s hard to breathe. Harry finds himself wishing that Louis would start flicking him with something, would start yelling at him, anything. 

He realises that after they drop Louis home, there’s no reason for him and Harry to meet up again. This was the last official paparazzi opportunity, the last sighting, before Louis goes on tour and their contract ends and neither of them are obligated to see each other ever again. 

Harry’s heart beats loudly. He looks out the window, sees that they’re only minutes from Louis’ house. 

He turns to Louis in a panic. “Come to mine.”

Louis blinks, then stares at Harry curiously. “What?”

“Come to mine.” Harry says, never tearing his eyes from Louis’. “Please. Just for a tiny bit. 

Louis’ mouth scrunches up and twists as he thinks. He shuts his eyes and then sighs. Harry watches Louis’ chest rise and fall with it. “Okay. Fine. An hour.”

“Yes.” Harry celebrates under his breath. He suppresses a smile as he informs the driver. The route is redirected, and Harry feels himself becoming a little more alive. 

.

Harry holds the door open for Louis as he gets out of the car. A muttered thanks is heard, and it’s repeated as Harry holds the door open when they reach his house. 

With nerves fluttering inside his stomach, the mixture of jet-lag causes him to feel a little sick. But one glance at Louis tells him that he’s reconsidering agreeing to come here, and this propels Harry into active mode. 

“Uh, here,” Harry says, side-stepping towards his kitchen, gesturing Louis to follow. “Did you want, like, a drink? Coffee? Or…?”

Louis looks at him as he leans against the doorway of the kitchen. He brings his finger up to his brow, rubs it twice, then lets his hand fall down to his thigh as his chest deflates. “You know you don’t have to do all this, right?” 

He’s staring elsewhere, exhausted. Harry doesn’t know how to describe the anxiety in his veins. He feels like a timer is reaching its end, and the buzzer will sound any second. “I want to.”

“I get it, like, to clear your conscious and all that, yeah?” Louis’ voice is almost a whisper. “This is _it,_ now. We don’t have to play nice together anymore. You don’t even have to try anymore, Harry. Trust me, I’m not gonna… I’m not gonna drag your name through the press when this is all done. I wouldn’t do that. So, you can relax a little.” 

In his mind, the timer goes off. 

“Jesus _Christ_, Louis.” He shuts his eyes, tilts his head up to the ceiling in frustration. “Are we really back here, now? Do you still think I’m some shallow twat that only cares about what people think of me?” Louis doesn’t react, but his shoulder raises up and down in a shrug. Harry lets out a breath, looks at Louis in disbelief. “Do you really think I don’t care about you?”

They stare at each other for a moment, time suspended. Then somehow, Louis breaks. His face crumbles and he places it in his hands. 

“God, I’m fucked up, Harry.” He sniffs, lifts his head from his hands and blinks. “I haven’t been okay in… in a really long fucking time. And we don’t _fit_. Nothing about us makes sense. I can’t believe people actually believe it. I’m a genuine walking disaster and you’re as perfect as they come. So I honestly don’t— I don’t think you care about me.”

“Lou,” Harry walks towards him on instinct, closing the space separating them. Louis doesn’t look at him. Harry doesn’t know what to say, how he could find the words to tell Louis how great he is without making it obvious that he means more to him than he realises. So he just finds his hand and links it with his own. “Look.” He says. “We do fit.”

Louis looks at their entwined hands and lets out a chuckle. “You’re so… fucking corny.”

Harry laughs a little louder, then lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around Louis. Louis falls into him and they remain there, fitting together perfectly, standing in his dimly lit kitchen as it almost reaches midnight. 

After some time, Louis lifts his head and looks at Harry. “You were right.”

Harry tilts his head to the side. 

“About me and… my mum. I shouldn’t be doing that shit.”

“What?” Harry takes a step back, holding Louis’ shoulders, “No, I should never have—“

“No, like, it’s okay. It actually… caused me to think about it. ‘Cause, like, nobody’s ever been that candid with me before. And even though you were plastered and an idiot when you said it, I’m actually glad you did.” Louis shakes his head and he stares off somewhere, tossing through thoughts in his head. “Like, why am I doing the shit that makes me feel sick when I think of her doing it? Makes no fucking sense, really. I have to do some serious changing. Work hard, provide for them, live a life worthwhile.”

“You do work hard.” Harry tells him. “Niall’s told me how much you do for the band, how much you write for it and make the right connections for gigs and that. You were their manager before youeven knew you were.”

Louis slowly brings a smile, one that finally reaches his eyes, leftover tears from before making them shine. Then he lifts a hand and taps Harry on the cheek before walking away. “C’mon, you have to give me a proper tour of this house. It’s well overdue.”

.

Harry shows him every room. There are some rooms he hasn’t entered since moving in, and Louis notices this. He comments that they don’t feel lived in. Harry tells him that he hates this house. 

“You do?” Louis stares at him openly. There’s a spark there, something unknown. It’s surprise, but it’s pleasant. Like he’s glad. 

Harry hasn’t admitted that to anybody before. “I— yeah? Kinda? I mean, like, it’s huge… great for hosting.” He sees Louis nod. Harry leans up against the doorway of the sunroom, the moon casting light over the lounge. He sighs. “The cleaners and staff see it more than I do. I think if I just had a studio, a place to sleep and maybe, like, a nice garden, I think that would be all I need.”

“It is a very, very large house for one person.” Louis tells him. “You should see my place compared to this. It’s ridiculously tiny.”

“Okay.”

Louis chuckles at Harry’s readied answer. “Don’t sound so eager, Harry.”

Harry brings a slow smile. He shrugs as he leans off the door, stepping closer. “I wanna see where you live. But first… I wanna cook for you.”

Louis flits his gaze up and down. He quirks a brow, “Cook for me?”

“Yeah,” Harry grins, holding Louis by his jumper where his hips are. “In my massive kitchen.”

With a laugh, Louis pushes Harry away with his fingers to his chest. “Good,” He says as he begins to walk away, “I’m fucking starving.”

So, Harry cooks for him.

He may have overdone it a little. He’d created pork chops and mashed potato and gravy and everything he knew Louis liked from their trip in London. It was so easy to work his way around the kitchen with Louis sitting on the counter and retelling stories of his times in the tour bus — his fondest memories. He’d also mock Harry, of course, by making fun of his ‘concentration face’ and how this is the most effort anyone’s put into any pity meal. 

And every time Harry looks at him, chastises him, listens to him, the temptation to stand in between Louis’ knees and kiss him becomes more and more overpowering. 

It becomes worse when they sit down on the couch and Louis takes the first bite of his meal, licks his lips and says, “_Christ_. This is really fucking good, Harry.”

The praise sends off light within him and he’s unable to stop the smile on his face. “‘M glad you like it.”

“I mean, how could anyone not?” Louis continues, “You’ve been hiding this talent from me, Styles? How many people know that you can come up with something like this?”

“Stop,” Harry says, shaking his head as he looks down at his own plate. 

“Y’know, if, god forbid, your singing career turns to shite, at least you’ve got being a culinary chef as an option.”

“I don’t think I’d be able to do that.” 

“Mm? Why not?”

“I feel like, I don’t know. When a hobby becomes a profession, the charm of it kinda leaves? Like, cooking just now, without pressure or expectations, having you there and it being this casual sort of thing… that’s what makes it all fun. And cooking for people you love makes it more worthwhile and meaningful, rather than having to be a chef at a restaurant or creating cookbooks that have to be original, you know?”

Harry glances at Louis and he finds him looking at him, no longer eating. Louis drops his gaze for a moment, then says softly, “Remember what Nick told you?”

There’s a second where Harry’s confused completely — Nick’s told him a lot of things. Too many, if Harry’s honest — but then he backtracks and he realises: _cooking for people you love_.

“Oh. That wasn’t—“ Harry shakes his head, Louis watches him carefully. “I was just saying in general, like, for family and—and friends. You know the saying, like, made with love? Kind of like that, in a way…”

Harry trails off when he feels a light touch to his hand. Louis’ fingers lay there. He’s smiling with reassurance, then says, “It’s okay. Was just making sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry says, chuckling briefly. “‘Course.”

Louis drops his hand and they both start eating in silence. Harry kicks himself. He’s never felt this way before, with anyone, and the longer he holds this façade that it’s not affecting him in the slightest, the longer the cracks will show. Maybe he should just say it. They’re both jet-lagged and cosy and _good_ again. What if he just said it?

_I think I’m in love with you_,_ maybe_.

“Hey,” Louis says, almost startling Harry out of his thoughts. Louis nods to the projected screen, “Should we watch a movie, then?”

Harry rolls his lips together with a nod, turning everything on and switching to Netflix so that Louis can scroll through and choose whatever he likes. As he does, Harry makes them both a tea. It takes a while as the cinema room is located a few corridors down from the kitchen, and Harry zones out for quite some time even after the kettle boils, so once Harry finally returns, he sees the home page of Netflix is still up, and on the couch lays Louis, curled up and snoring softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really sorry for being so shit with updates but as everyone knows the end of year panic is reAL. i don't know when the next chapter will be up but hopefully before the end of 2019.... haha GOD. ok. it's fine. we're fine. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays everyone <3

When Harry envisioned the person he wanted to fall in love with, no definitive characteristics came to mind. However there had always been a particular person in his dreams; one where he’d wake up in the late afternoon to a kiss on the forehead, comfortable in a bed completely different to the one he wakes up in now. He had liked to think of it as a premonition, as though his dreams were a window into the future. It brought comfort, that. It meant that Harry didn’t have to worry about ending up alone and that someday someone will love him. The dreams had come to him regularly — the same person giving him the same kiss in the same bed and the two of them creating a life together. The dreams never reveal what gender they are, what their name is, what colour hair they have... everything about them is completely blank no matter how hard Harry tries to pinpoint it. 

It scares him, now, that it makes sense for it to be Louis. 

It makes sense that he needs someone to challenge him, to pull him up on his behaviour and for someone who’s not afraid to tell Harry when he’s wrong. It makes sense that Louis’ also creative and a genius and is someone that inspires Harry the more he gets to know him. And it makes sense that Louis’ unmistakably beautiful — from the colours of his eyes to the depths of his heart — magnetically pulling Harry in closer and closer without knowing it.

It's startlingly obvious and disastrous all the same. He would have never accepted this publicity act if it meant falling in love. Harry's convinced he's a masochist. There's no way he can allow himself to go through this again. Heavenly-like dreams be damned. 

Harry lies awake all night as he attempts to sleep on the other couch, his thoughts causing insomnia. But he also doesn't want to separate himself from Louis in case he wakes up and leaves to go to his own home. As much as he's tried to pretend it doesn't affect him, he’s terrified of Louis locking Harry out and realising that he never wants to speak to him again if he doesn’t have to. 

Harry hasn’t proven himself, yet. And he knows that Louis’ not in love with him, either. 

So when daybreak comes and streaks through the blinds, Harry gets up and starts on breakfast. The cleaners have already started their duties for the day and Harry greets them before letting them have the day off with pay. They thank him graciously and Harry smiles with a nod. With a quiet kitchen, he starts to collect all the ingredients he needs. 

He’s just flipped the first omelette when he hears footsteps coming into the room. 

Harry’s heart leaps when he turns and unexpectedly see Louis. Harry thought he'd have slept in after the jet-lag. He’s rubbing his eye with his fist, and he stops in the middle of the room when he realises what Harry’s making.

“Mornin’.” He says, voice croaky. 

“Morning.” Harry smiles as Louis takes a seat at the counter. “How’d you sleep? Do you want a tea? Coffee?”

Louis lets out a small chuckle, “You’re in quite the hosting mood.” He yawns, “I’d love a tea though, thanks.” 

Harry nods, flicking the kettle on before going back to the stove and flipping the omelette onto a plate. He slides it over to Louis and Louis looks at him with a puzzled, sleepy frown. 

“Wha’? You made this for me?” 

“‘Course.”

“Oh.” Louis says, slightly hesitant. “Erm, thanks.” 

Harry turns from where he’s pouring another batch of the mixture onto the frypan. “You don’t like omelettes?” 

Louis blinks up at him. “Oh, no, love. Just— I don’t know, s’nice.” He smiles. “You’re nice.” 

With a laugh, Harry continues cooking. “You’re nice, too.” 

He makes Louis’ tea as Louis eats and when he hands it to him, Louis thanks him yet again and says, “Er... sorry for falling asleep on your couch, by the way. I honestly didn’t mean to, like, you definitely could’ve woken me and I would’ve called an Uber home—“

“What? No,” Harry tells him, shaking his head. “That late? It’s fine, I don’t mind at all. I actually slept on the couch too, so.” 

Louis stares at him for a moment, his eyes watchful of Harry. “Mm,” He says, before shifting his attention to his knife and fork as he cuts a bite. “But you didn’t sleep, though.” 

Harry raises his brows as the frypan sizzles. “And how would you know that?” 

“Like how I know you didn’t sleep the night before, either.” Louis tells him simply. Harry marvels at him. Louis really happens to pay attention and knows when Harry hasn’t recharged at all. He wonders if anyone else could pick that, whether his own mother could. Louis just looks up at him again and flits his gaze to the stove. “You gonna get that?”

Harry blinks out of it and the sound of sizzling fills his ears. He flips the omelette. It’s only slightly burnt. 

Once Harry finishes eating, Louis collects both their plates despite Harry’s protest and puts them in the dishwasher. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Harry tells him, “I have staff for a reason.” 

Louis’ pins him with a sharp look, “Say that again and I’ll put _you_ in the dishwasher.” 

They spend the morning waking up and cracking jokes and it feels so normal that Harry somewhat forgets about their limited timeline, about everything. 

So when Louis eventually stands up from his seat, stretches upwards and says, “Well, think I best be off.” Harry’s entire body freezes. 

“Why?” He asks, on a reflex more than anything else. 

Louis looks at him with confusion, then laughs. “‘Cause, I don’t know if you recall, Harry, but I’d originally said I’d stay here for an hour and it’s been a lot longer than that.” He sniffs, then pulls a face. “And to be honest with you, I smell like shit.” 

“You can use my shower?”

“I mean... I could.” Louis says with a skeptical expression. “Or, like, I could use my own.” 

“Right.” Harry bows his head, stares at his hands. “Yeah.”

It’s odd, being in a relationship with somebody who doesn’t love you. It’s even more odd when the world outside is convinced that he loves you. It sends endless confusion through every interaction, every look, and he would give anything to peer inside the mind of Louis Tomlinson to see if he feels the same. 

“Harry?” Louis’ voice comes out in a half-whisper, and when Harry locks eyes with him, his face is gentle. “Wanna come home with me?” 

“Really?” Harry asks, eyes blinking wider, “Like, today?” 

Louis laughs, “Yeah, if you want. I mean, you did cook for me. Twice. And you said you wanted to see where I live, after that.” 

Harry’s face splits in two, he can’t even hide it. “I’ll grab my things.” 

.

Harry loves Louis’ apartment. 

It’s modern, spacious despite the size, and it’s covered in all things Louis. There’s shoes stacked messily as they first enter the door, a large poster of Amy Winehouse on one of the walls, a clear jar on the kitchen table filled with Yorkshire teabags, football gear thrown over the couch and a Coca-Cola can sitting on the coffee table that Louis rushes to clean up after Harry’s eyes land on it. 

“Sorry about the, erm, the mess.” Louis apologises, dropping the can into the trash where it almost topples over from it being too full. “Was kinda in a rush when we left for London, y’know how it is.” 

“No, it’s fine. It’s perfect.” Harry tells him genuinely. “It’s very you.” 

Louis chuckles and it comes out nervous, almost. Then he scratches the back of his head before snapping his fingers together and striding towards the fridge. “Are you hungry? It’s almost lunchtime, believe it or not. Though we do live across town from one another and the traffic in L.A is always fucking unbearable, so I kinda do actually believe it. But, erm, yeah, like I thought,” Louis says in disappointment as he opens the fridge and finds it somewhat completely empty, “I can’t exactly cook you anything in return, unfortunately.” He turns to face Harry, “But I am quite good friends with the pizza place down the road, and a talent of mine is managing to get great deals for food. Are you feeling pizza? Or, like, would you prefer a fruit platter?” 

Harry laughs gently, intoxicated by Louis’ ramblings. He could talk for hours, if Harry let him. It’s endlessly addictive just to listen and watch as he flits and waves his hands around or cocks his hip out or flicks his fringe to the side. He’s nervous in his own home and Harry’s unsure as to why. 

“Pizza’s good, yeah.” Harry replies easily. 

“Okay, mad.” Louis slides out his phone to order, but something on his screen makes him frown. “Uh...” He stands there for a second, then blinks a couple times before he peels a magnet off his fridge and hands it to Harry. “Order whatever you like, yeah? I just gotta... I’ll be back.” 

Louis leaves the room and shuts a door behind him. Harry hears his voice muffled through the wall, talking to someone on the phone. 

Harry twists his mouth, but calls up the pizza place and orders. 

He’s seated on the couch when Louis opens the door and enters the room. He looks exhausted as he takes a seat next to Harry. His head rests on the backrest and he looks at him. 

“So, that was Luke.” 

Harry’s brows automatically rise. He doesn’t know what he feels when he hears that name, now. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Louis says, then shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose briefly. “He said he wanted to talk in person. Said he... misses me?” 

Harry bites the inside of his cheek. “Well, that’s...”

“Completely random, right?” Louis asks, “Like, why now? ‘Aven’t heard a peep from him since we ended things and now he’s texting me? Quite odd, really.”

“Yeah.” Harry says. “Are you gonna see him in person?”

“I think I should, yeah.” Louis says with a shrug. “He _is_ good company, like, no harm in doing so. But I’d obviously have to wait until our break up is well and truly bypassed before I’m spotted near him again.”

Harry’s stomach clenches. That sentence sounds wrong. Doesn’t it feel wrong to say? Why isn’t Louis reacting to it like Harry is? 

“It’s crazy that it’s all coming to an end, now, isn’t it?” Harry asks, then waits for his answer, watching him. 

Louis smiles and pats him on the leg twice. “Don’t make it sound like we’ll never see each other again! It’s not goodbye, remember?” 

Harry’s unable to stop the twitch of a smile on his lips as he replies, “Yeah, but if it is.” 

“Well, then, if it _is_.” Louis replies without hesitation, his own smile forming on his face, a glint in his eye. Then he pounces on Harry and ruffles up his hair, causing Harry to yelp and squirm, forgetting all things Luke.

He ends up knocking Louis back onto the couch and looking at him in disbelief. “That’s how you’d act if we never saw each other again?” 

“Yeah.” Louis says. “I’d probably do something else, too, though.” 

Harry feels his heart speed up. “What?”

Louis grins, then pounces on him again. This time, he doesn’t go for his hair. Instead, he wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and curls up against him, pressing his face into Harry’s shirt and cuddling up to him as close as possible. 

Harry feels his breath knock out of him but not because of the impact. He stays shocked for a moment but quickly recovers, melting into the touch and wrapping his own arms around Louis tightly, pressing him in impossibly closer. He lets his nose dig into Louis’ hair and he breathes in. 

“Mm,” He says, “You do smell, actually.” 

“Fuck off.” Louis mumbles, then tries to separate. Harry doesn’t allow him to, and instead tightens his hold and shifts them a bit so that Louis’ more or less sitting in between Harry’s legs. 

It’s calming and exactly where Harry wants to be. He thinks he’d have the best sleep of his entire life if they remained like this. He thinks he’d have the best sleep every night until forever if Louis remained this attached to him for the rest of their lives. 

It’s a scary thought, but it only makes him close his eyes and stroke Louis’ back, cherishing every moment. 

.

After pizza and a shower, Louis ducks outside for a cigarette. Harry joins him and leans on the balcony since there aren’t any chairs. Louis apologises and Harry tells him it’s good to stand. 

“You’re so polite, d’y’know that?” Louis says, “I could tell you that in order to piss here you have to pay money and you’d probably give us a tip.” 

“Well,” Harry shrugs, unable to deny it. “It _is_ America.”

“_God_.” Louis says under his breath with a smile and a shake of his head. Louis stares out at the city — the life of it up and bouncing as it always is in the afternoon —while Harry watches as the smoke curls from Louis' lips like the drying strands of hair at the back of his neck. He wonders how they’ve spent about a week together consecutively yet he still feels greedy for more. Always more. “Hey, can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

Louis glances down at his feet as he flicks off ash from the cigarette before picking his head back up again. He doesn’t look at Harry when he says, “Is it normal not to feel excited for tour?” 

Out of everything Harry could’ve possibly thought of, he didn’t think Louis would say that. “Um—“

“It’s stupid, right?” Louis asks, then chuckles humourlessly. “I should be over the fucking moon that we’ve sold out our first world tour. And I don’t know if it’s, like—“ He sighs shortly, as though he’s frustrated. “I’m not one to self-diagnose meself but, like, I guess it’s because I'd had such a bad experience with the tour last time, y’know, with the whole cheating shit, so it’s probably still in the back of me mind that I’m gonna be feeling like that while I travel. But also I... I’m gonna miss this place, I think.” Harry spots the corner of Louis’ mouth quirk up a little as he hip bumps him and mumbles, “‘M gonna miss you.”

_Don’t go_. 

Harry almost says it, too. He thinks it almost every day. _Don’t go_,_ stay with me_._ Stay forever_. 

“I’m gonna miss the boys.” Harry says, which makes Louis finally lock eyes with him. Harry smiles and throws an arm around Louis’ waist. “Gonna miss you the most.”

Louis leans into his touch. But from his expression, Harry notices him thinking deeply. 

“I don’t know if you remember, but on the last night of London, in the car on the way home, you said—“

He cuts himself off. Harry feels nervous, definitely remembering the journey to the hotel. “_Everybody wanted you_. _Me_, _the most_.” He desperately wants Louis to say it, wants to be able to say “_Yeah_. _Still true_.” 

“What did I say?” 

“Mm,” Louis shakes his head with a laugh. “It’s escaped me, now.” He turns away from Harry’s hold and buts out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. “Should we watch a movie? Never ended up doing that at yours.” 

Harry, albeit disappointed, smiles and agrees easily. He hates that Louis’ censoring himself. Hates that he’s doing the same, too.

“It’s okay, by the way.” Harry adds, making Louis tilt his head to the side slightly in question. “About you not being excited for tour. It’s called homesickness.” 

“Oh.” Louis says, nodding. He shrugs with a shy smile. “S’pose I’ve never had that before.” 

He enters the apartment and Harry remains standing there on the balcony for a few seconds. His heart beats for Louis, he’s sure of it.

.

They watch three movies. Harry had to get up and take a call from his manager halfway through one of them, Louis had to buzz up somebody who forgot their key in the middle of another one, and Harry watched as the sky became that little less light as the third one comes to an end. 

Throughout all of them, Harry had attempted to move in that tiny bit closer, tried to talk throughout it in reference to the characters and was successful in making Louis relaxed and laughing. But truthfully he’s at a complete loss at what to do when wanting to charm someone in reality. He feels like he’s utter shit at it, actually. 

And when the end credits roll and he spots Louis disguising a yawn into his hand, it makes Harry collect himself and sigh, looking towards the ceiling. _What am I doing_? 

“Hey, I’m— I’m gonna head off, Lou.” 

He stands from the couch and Louis stands up a millisecond after. “What? Already?”

Harry can’t help but let out a short laugh. ‘Already’ he says as though Harry’s only just arrived. 

And Louis’ expression looks concerned, almost — brows pulled together, eyes slightly wide — and sometimes, when Louis’ too much for Harry’s brain to handle, he becomes torn between either wanting to squeeze him so hard he can’t breathe, or tear his clothes off and throw him onto a bed to watch Louis gasp and swoon. And something he’s learnt throughout this non-stop, unpredictable cycle of Louis is that a happy-medium between those two options usually comes down to laughing just to keep his mouth occupied so he doesn’t say something stupid like “I love you.” 

“What do you mean ‘already’?” He asks instead. Amazingly, it’s more stupid. 

It is, because Louis’ gaze falters, and his eyelids squeeze together. “You’re right.” He chuckles briefly. “It’s been quite a fucking while, hasn’t it? You’ve probably— god, you’ve probably been itching to go home for ages but you’re too bloody polite and I— I kept picking out _movies_...” Louis visibly cringes, then stares at Harry with one eye open, “You’ve really got to learn how to be less polite, Styles.” He points at him, then drops his hand and smiles brightly with teeth and all. “Let’s go back to our unfriendly stage, yeah? Was easier and less, like, embarrassin’, then. I’d call you peculiar, you’d call me intimidating, that kind of thi—“

Sometimes, when Louis becomes too much for Harry’s brain to handle, his brain hardly thinks at all. Which is why, in the midst of Louis’ living room and sentence, Harry closes the distance between them and presses a kiss to his lips, shocking Louis still. 

But Harry parts almost as soon as his brain catches up, and it’s still foggy. Louis still hasn’t moved. 

“Shit. ‘M sorry. I know we’re not like that right n—“

Louis’ fingers curl into Harry’s hair, his lips on his own and swallowing his words. He kisses into Harry’s mouth, the feel of Louis on him comforting, familiar. He cups Louis’ face with both of his hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as they part again. 

Louis looks into his eyes. Harry’s afraid to blink. 

“You know we don’t have to practice anymore, right?” Louis whispers to him. 

“There’s cameras.” Harry lies. It’s so blatant and rushed when he says it that Louis’ mouth quirks into a smile. 

“Oh, yeah?” He asks with a tilt to his head, “In my apartment?” 

“Yeah.” Harry replies, nodding. “It’s— this was part of the contract, didn’t you know?” 

Louis bites his lip to keep from laughing. “You know I wouldn’t know.” 

“Exactly. And you should really actually read it. You’ve been bugged like Big Brother and the entire world can see us right n—“

Louis stops him with a kiss, tightening his hold on Harry’s curls and luring him closer. Harry dissolves the rest of his sounds to a moan into Louis’ mouth and slides his hands down Louis’ back to rest on his bum, aligning their hips.

“Are they in the bedroom?” Louis asks into Harry’s ear, rolling up his hips and sliding them together. 

Harry swallows harshly. “D’you remember when you joked about that sex tape? They head that. ‘Course there’s cameras in there.” 

Louis chuckles before unmistakably rolling his eyes and taking Harry’s hand with his own, leading him towards the bedroom. 

.

“You’ve gotta fucking tell him.” 

Harry groans out loud at the prospect. It’s absolutely foolish. It’s the worst idea Nick’s ever had. It’s the worst idea anyone’s ever had. It’s worse than Harry getting drunk and spilling his guts about Louis Tomlinson — which is exactly what he’s doing. 

“And what happens then, Nicholas?” Harry asks him as Nick sprawls out on his bed, attempting to drink out of his bottle of beer as he lies back on the pillow with sheer concentration. Harry spins once in Nick’s desk chair and stops himself as he theorises. “I — what? I go up to him, I stand there and I say—“

“Why stand?” Nick asks with a finger pointed outwards. “Why not, y’know, slip it into conversation while you’re both leisurely cuddling on that California king bed you have. Preferably after a steamy fuck-sesh, so he’s all dazed and lovely. Tell me, Harry, does he look positively dreamy after you’ve done the deed? I’d imagine the bluest, doest-like eyes and sleepy smile. I’ve seen that sleepy smile, you know, face-to-face on my show.”

Harry squints his eyes at his best friend as he rants on about his other best friend and hopefully soon-to-be lover. “Nick. Are you sure you don’t want to tell him that _you’re_ in love with him?” 

Nick laughs outwardly. “Harry, it’s no secret that I tried to shag your boy before you ever got the chance.”

Harry gasps. 

“Oh, c’mon, really?” Nick asks, sitting up. “I gave him my personal number when he was on the show! We really hit it off, actually. I feel like I’d have a chance if Luke didn’t swoop in and charm him with his sculptured features.” Nick waves a had aimlessly in the air before he lies back down. “And you, of course.”

“He wants to get back with him.” Harry remembers as he fiddles with the wrapper of his own bottle. “Luke does, I mean. With Louis.”

Nick hums lowly. “How’d you figure that?” 

“Luke called him while I was over at Louis’. Said he wanted to meet up. To talk.” 

“Christ. How formal.” Nick goes silent, then looks over at Harry. “And how’d Louis react? Did he seem interested?” 

“I mean...” Harry leans back in his chair and clicks his tongue as he bobs his head side to side. “Yeah? Kinda? Like, he didn’t, like, seem repulsed, or anything. I would’ve been. Y’know, if I were him.” 

“Yeah.” Nick agrees. “He is a twat.” 

“S’okay, though. I’ve kinda, like, accepted it.” Harry tells him. “I know it’s genuinely such wishful thinking, having Louis travel the world and me remaining where I am and both of us still being together. It doesn’t even last between real couples. So, like, a fake one...”

He trails off and looks down. His PR team are right. Their relationship and their break-up are so believable because it really happens. The strain is too much and there’s not enough time on tour. Every country holds different people. People who will meet Louis, people Louis will without a doubt form some kind of connection with. He’ll understand that there’s more out there than shitty cheaters, or an indie singer from California. 

“Can I ask you something, Harry?” 

Harry nods. 

“What’s the difference between a real couple, and what you and Louis have?” 

Harry snorts lightly, “Well, for starters, real couples don’t have to sign contracts and aren’t forced to go on dates with each other.” 

“Right.” Nick says, sitting up and leaning against the headboard, his ankles crossed. “And?” 

“And...” Harry starts off confident, sure that there’s more. But everything he thinks of has a counter point. He uses his thumb to scratch the underside of his chin as he thinks, and comes up short. “We fucking suck at communicating. Clearly.” 

“Ah. So, you’re married.”

“Nick—“

“Listen. You’ve obviously got a definite bond, something that’s intense and exciting and _good_ for you. I’ll back it one thousand per cent, you know it. Even if I did want to get a slice of that Tomlinson pie.”

“Gross, mate.” 

Nick laughs loudly, then shakes his bottle. “Your shout, innit?” 

.

The studio session, in short, had been the most exhausting yet exhilarating session he has ever had in his entire career. 

In length, it had been the session that redefined his sound, cranking out thirty different songs, and was more beneficial than any therapy he’s experienced. Creativity had been itching at him, which he'd known, but when he finally sat down with his regular team and brought pen to paper, pick to strings, it was like he was unstoppable. 

“This guy’s really done a number on you, Styles, hasn’t he?” His other guitarist, Mitch, had asked him after what was probably the fourteenth song he’d heard from Harry’s mouth about a boy who’s taken his heart and doesn’t know it yet. 

And Harry had just smiled sadly, nodded, then gestured with his finger to go from the top. 

After that session, Harry collapses onto his bed and shuts his eyes. He has no idea, truly, if any of those songs will make it to the album. He doesn’t know if any of them were any good at all. But his brain feels clearer and his chest feels lighter and it’s easier, now, to realise exactly what he wants to do. 

His phone rings in the pocket of his jacket that he hasn’t taken off yet. He keeps his eyes closed but he knows it's his guitarist. Everyone on his team, somehow, is more of a perfectionist than he is and after each session there are calls made to ask his opinion on this and that. It takes Harry a few tries but he slides to answer and he brings it to his ear. 

“If this is about samples I don’t really wanna hear them, to be honest, Mitch.” Harry says as he rubs his eyes. “Heard enough today, we’ll return tomorrow, yeah?” 

“...Alright, buddy.” Mitch replies, “Just letting you know that there are some real keepers in here. Some of your best work. But we’ll return to it all tomorrow. Rest up.”

Harry smiles, “Thanks, man, you too.” 

He lets his hand with the phone drop to his side. He stares at the ceiling. He keeps smiling. 

Then his phone rings again and he frowns, “Mitch, really, man?”

There’s a pause on the other side, then a faint, “Erm, ‘ello?”

Harry’s eyes widen and he sits up. “Louis. Hi.”

“Hi.” Louis chuckles briefly. “Expecting a call, were you?” 

“Oh,” Harry laughs, “No, just got off the phone to him. What, um, what’s going on?” 

“Nothin’, nothin’.” Louis says airily. He sounds dazed, almost. “Just went back into tour rehearsals today, polished some things up.” 

“I can’t wait to see it all come together.” 

“It’s got me excited, actually. I’m— I’m keen to see the excitement in the crowd. Miss seeing their faces, y’know?”

“Absolutely. They’re the best part of touring, hands down.” 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees breathily. “I also, erm, also had that thing with Luke, today.” 

Harry’s pretty sure his insides seize all at once and it renders him speechless. Which is fortunate, really, as it stops him from shooting questions out like a canon in hopes to find out as much information as possible. But his brain whirls nevertheless, realising that this is why Louis sounds so blissful as he speaks. 

They had sex. 

Harry’s mouth falls open the more he thinks. Louis told Harry that they’re officially over, now, just not to the media’s eye. He could have told Luke exactly that. 

“... Harry?” 

Harry clears his throat, “Mm? Sorry, little tired from the studio today. What was that?” 

He likes to think his voice sounds naturally unclenched and believable. 

“Oh! How was that? Forgot that you were writing today.”

“Was good.” Harry manages. _I sang about how I was in love with you the entire time_. “But what, um, did you say? Before?” 

“Erm, right. Just that I followed Luke up on that offer. Don’t know if you remembered but he kinda asked to chat? You said, like, if I ended up seeing him that you wanted to know how it went, so...”

“Luke, yeah. I remember. And?”

“It actually, surprisingly, went really, really well.” Louis says with a happy sigh. Harry can picture his contentedly smiling face in his head and it kills him that he didn’t cause it. “We just sat and chatted for ages. Not even about us half the time, just about anything. Forget that we genuinely had a connection other than, y’know, the sex.” He laughs and Harry fists at his bedsheets. “And he asked about you.” 

“Did he.” 

It doesn’t come out as a question and his voice has gone deeper than expected but Luke asked about him while on a cute little date with Louis and Harry feels like his own bones could snap. 

“A fair bit, actually. He asked, erm, about our relationship and how I feel about you. It kinda got... it kinda got me thinking.” Louis pauses slightly. Then, “Basically, I, erm, told him that we were still together. Obviously. And he respected that.” 

Harry’s not a fool. He knows that as soon as their official contracts are up and Louis’ on tour and the moment the first headline displaying 'The End of Larry Stylinson' is published, Luke will be running to wherever Louis is at that moment and sneaking into every crevice of his life until they’re in bed together again. 

And Harry shouldn’t even fucking care. This is what he’s told himself from the very moment they were in that room together. Louis will move on. 

It’s just better to imagine strangers. 

“Okay.” Harry remembers to say. “Um, good that he... respected it.” 

“Yeah, was.” 

There’s silence on both ends, but Harry can’t think of a word to say. But when he does, he says, “Hey, wanna come over?”

And Louis agrees almost immediately.

.

It’s night-time when Louis strolls through his door and brandishes a Tupperware container full of rolled joints. Harry’s convinced that Louis’ still half-unaware that his financial and social status has changed and he doesn’t need to be getting deals off of pizza or carry old Tupperware around with him anymore. He’s also convinced that Louis never wants to be completely aware of it, either. 

Harry leads him to his balcony outside of his room. With the darkened sky the view seems dismal, but it’s not cloudy so the stars are shining, at least. 

Louis only lights one joint, smokes a little, then hands it to Harry. It shouldn’t come to any surprise that Harry watches Louis as he looks out at the world, sitting down on the chair and propping his foot up against the balcony. He seems so content, chilled. 

Harry can’t determine if there’s anything different about Louis. He’d hoped to maybe pinpoint a giveaway that he and Luke did anything — a change in demeanour, an obvious love bite, that lazy smile that Nick was scarily fucking accurate about — but right now Louis’ just Louis. 

He hands back the joint after he has some and leans back in his chair. The countdown is vivid to him, now. He remembers thinking that he’s learnt more about Louis than anything Louis’ ever learnt about him. He decides to make it even. 

“I’m afraid of dogs.” Harry confesses.

Louis slowly turns to him, mouth full. He lets out the smoke, then smacks his lips together once. “What?”

“I know.” Harry shakes his head. “Everyone’s supposed to love dogs. I don’t even know why I’m so scared. Even the little ones. Like, the ankle biters. I’m just such a cat person.” Harry twiddles his fingers together, then looks at Louis. “I haven’t told anyone that. I feel like everyone would hate me.” 

Louis just pauses for a moment, then directs his attention to the joint, then back to Harry. “You know, I’m really debating on whether I should give you this right now.” 

With a short laugh, Harry then groans and scrunches up his face. “I’m not— I’m not _high_. I just, like, I’ve been thinking. I feel like I know a lot about you, now, after visiting London and, like, you’ve shared so much about yourself with me and I don’t think I have at all. So that was kinda... was kinda me opening up.”

“And you chose to start with dogs?”

“I’m absolute garbage at this. I haven’t been an open book to anyone before.” 

Louis hums, nods like he understands. He offers Harry the joint and Harry takes it. “You don’t have to. I don’t care about making things even, or whatever. I talk because that’s how I express things. If it’s difficult for you, you don’t have to.”

Harry breathes out and almost says it. Almost says I love you. “You’re fucking...” He shakes his head in astonishment and he doesn’t know why his throat suddenly feels choked up. “You’re fucking angelic. I swear. Whoever you end up with in life will be one lucky dude.” 

“You.” Louis says. He blinks, “You, too. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

Harry flicks the ash off into the tray. “Well,” He says, “Guess we’re gonna end up with two luck-filled partners, then.”

“Can’t be Niall.” 

“Why... why would it even_ be_ Niall?”

Louis gives him a blank stare. “Leprechaun?” He looks at him with disappointment, “God, Styles, are we even friends?” 

“More than friends, surely.”

He raises a brow, “Hm... Best friends?” 

“With benefits?” Harry adds boldly with a grin. He reaches over and strokes Louis’ wrist lightly with his knuckles, testing. 

Louis’ lips quirk up into a smile, then he’s moving out of his chair and walking over. He takes the joint out from between Harry’s fingers and places it somewhere on the tray. Harry’s hands finds Louis’ hips as soon as he realises what he’s doing, and guides him closer as Louis slowly and comfortably straddles Harry’s lap. 

“Yeah.” Louis says on a whisper, voice close and sending goosebumps down Harry’s spine. He leans down so their noses touch. “Guess you could call it that.” 

.

Harry once thought it was only poets who liked to describe their love interests’ fitting together perfectly as if they were made for each other. He never quite believed the notion that someone could have been made for another. An unfathomable amount of people on Earth yet people think that their partner has been specifically carved out for them in every way possible. 

But Harry feels it — he feels it when Louis’ hand fit against his own in the doorway of his house, or when their laughs mingle together like a perfect choir, or when Harry’s moving inside him and the sensation is indescribable, nothing like the others he’s ever had before — and when he feels it, he understands the poets and their poems. They were made for each other. 

He dries off his hands on the towel as he’s shaken from his thoughts. If it were early days, Harry would have blamed that line of thinking on his post-orgasm haze. But as he walks back into the bedroom and immediately catches a naked Louis in his bed, tangled up in his sheets and sleeping soundly against his pillow, the feeling strikes him yet again. 

Harry lies in beside him quietly, curling up at his side and wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist. He’s pleasantly surprised when he feels Louis’ hand move to touch Harry’s wrist. 

“Would it be okay if I slept here the night?” Louis asks, voice so unbelievably precious that Harry thinks nobody could ever say no to him. 

“Of course.” Harry replies. He tightens his hold around him and pecks him on the shoulder. “I have to tell you something anyway.” 

His stomach swoops at his own words and what they mean. 

“Mm?” His fingers glide across Harry’s skin gently. “What’s that?” 

“You’ve probably figured it out by now,” Harry chuckles lazily. “But, um, I think I—“

The doorbell is loud and intruding and insufferable and he’s told his workers to fix it the moment he bought the damn house but it’s so fucking big that if it wasn’t loud he wouldn’t be able to hear it at all.

But Louis jumps slightly in his arms from the damn sound and Harry almost growls at it. 

“Sorry,” Harry says.

“No, no.” Louis waves it off, “‘m a bit spaced out, just took me off guard. Y’gonna get it?”

As Harry hesitates, the bell rings again and he groans as he unwraps himself from Louis and rolls out of bed. He pulls on the first pair of pants he sees and tells Louis he’ll be back. 

At the door, Zayn smiles widely, Niall and Liam much the same behind him. 

“Evening, Harry.” Zayn greets. “Love the hair.” 

“Wha...” Harry steps aside as they start to come in, “What’s going on?”

“We think Louis’ phone’s dead and we’ve got a thing.” Liam explains. “Is he here?”

“Um. Yeah, he’s here.” Harry scratches his head. “I mean, you could’ve called me?” 

“We were in the neighbourhood.” Niall winks. “Also, your trousers are inside out.” 

He claps Harry on the arm and then shoots for upstairs, calling out Louis’ name and warning that if he’s naked, he’ll sit on his face. 

Harry looks at Zayn for... anything, but Zayn’s yet to show any expression that signifies his boyfriend’s antics weird him out. 

“So...” Liam drawls, nudging Harry’s shoe with his own. “Getting in one last round before we’re off, huh?” 

Zayn snorts as Harry’s eyes widen. Then Zayn says, “Charming, bro. I’m gonna tell him you said that.” 

But Harry’s still frowning. “Last?” 

“Yeah.” Liam shrugs. “Not long 'til we’re gone now. Also, mate, was gonna ask, will we still be friends? Like, now that you don’t have to be?” 

Zayn rolls his eyes into the back of his head. “I know you’re joking but, _fuck_. That was the most cringe—“ 

“You were thinking the same! You even told me—“

“No, Liam!” Zayn protests, stretching out the vowels and moving to try and cover Liam’s mouth. “Shhh.”

Harry’s attention moves to the staircase as the other two carry on, and he spots Niall and Louis emerging from the bedroom. 

“Oi oiiii!” Louis announces, the noise echoing throughout the cathedral-like house. 

The boys all announce it back the same way and Harry briefly wonders when exactly he joined a frat. 

“Sorry we have to separate your little miss thing from you, Haz.” Niall tells him once they reach the landing. Louis promptly flicks him on the ear. 

“Call me that again and I’ll bite your nipple.”

“Oh, you should hear what Liam said about you before.” Zayn says. 

Liam gasps at Zayn and tries to lunge at him, but then Zayn lets out a small squeal and backs away, making Niall leap forwards and attempt to tackle Liam to the ground. 

Harry watches as Louis looks on and lets out a sigh. He catches Harry’s eye and shakes his head, then shrugs. 

“I truly am sorry for this.” Louis says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “I bet there was nothing in the contracts about having to spend involuntary time with these lunatics.” 

Harry smiles back and runs his hands down Louis’ arms slowly. “Sad that you won’t be spending the night anymore.” 

Louis looks slightly surprised at that. Harry’s never understood how he always seems to be taken with astonishment whenever he hears something like that. Louis should be used to it. 

“Thought you’d be glad to have me out your hair.” Louis laughs. “Anyway, I’ll... I guess I’ll see you before we leave?”

“Before that.” Harry says immediately. “When are you free?”

“Never!” Liam calls out from where he’s picked Niall up from the belly, Niall’s legs wrapped around Zayn’s waist. Zayn counteracts in an accent, “Oo, anytime for you, babes.”

“Uh,” Louis squeezes his eyes shut, torn between fond and embarrassed on behalf of his band mates. When he looks at Harry again he seems guilty, “Can we text instead? About a time? Just, these fuckers, y’know...”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Yeah, okay. We’ll text.” 

“Okay.” Louis says. He seems slightly awkward now, waiting. 

So Harry takes his face into his hands gently and brings him closer, kissing his lips and drowning out the mingled sounds of gagging and hooting in the background. 

When they part, a slight pinkish tinge decorates Louis’ cheeks and Harry can’t help but stroke his thumb over it. 

“Bye.” Louis whispers. 

Harry shakes his head. “It’s not goodbye.”

Without fail, Louis’ lips quirk into a smile. “But if it _is_.”

And Louis falls into Harry’s chest, arms wrapped around him tightly. Harry reciprocates it just as much until Louis separates and leaves him lonely. 

Louis doesn’t look at him again, not when he flicks the boys the bird and not when he leaves the house first. 

Liam and Zayn wave goodbye to Harry, and Niall says goodbye and pouts his lips out for Harry to kiss. 

“Niall.” Zayn calls from the doorway. 

“Why does only Louis get one?” Niall asks, then cackles as he shuts the door behind him. 

The house turns eerily cold, and Harry feels like he’s been whiplashed, somehow. 


	12. Chapter 12

Harry doesn’t see him the next day. Nor the day after that.

They don’t text, either. And it’s not like Harry’s bored every hour and endlessly checking his phone for any indication that Louis’ replied to him. He’s got things to do; he’s a multi-award winning artist and universal superstar. He's extremely busy. And wanted. And definitely not insatiably obsessed over someone who is definitely his soulmate and someone who's for some unknown reason suddenly ghosting him. 

Truth is, he has been busy. He’s had meetings upon meetings about his new album and what angle they should go for and how they’ll set up the entire campaign and practically the entirety of his life for the next year. Which is fine, since this is what he's used to and it helps to occupy his mind and allows him to think about himself for a change.

That is, until Louis’ name is dropped in association to Harry’s career plan.

“Once Louis Tomlinson is out of the picture, Harry will stay out of the limelight for a couple of weeks as per One Direction’s team’s request. This gives them more publicity and will gain suspense for Harry’s reappearance. After that—“

And this is when Harry will zone out completely, stunned that they are able to announce it so flippantly, like the mere thought of the end of their time isn’t devastating.

“What if we extend it?” Harry decides to say. Or blurts out unprepared. Either way, he feels it with his entire chest, unable to bottle it.

He’s almost positive that everyone in the meeting has moved on to a different topic completely, especially with the way his team are looking at him.

“Extend what, Harry?” Fletcher asks kindly.

“Sorry, um, I meant the— the PR stunt.” Harry clarifies. He clears his throat and then decidedly looks away from Fletcher as his expression changes into something knowing. “The boys, um, the One D boys... they made a good point when we were supposed to end it the first time. They said that we’d benefit more if we stayed together. Would benefit the both of us. It’s going so well, like, there’s a whole new fandom dedicated to the two of us. I think we— I think we should milk it for what it’s worth.”

It sounds awful to his own ears, speaking about it like it’s something manufactured and replaceable. But he knows that he can’t let on to his team that he feels personally towards Louis. He has to remain professional and speak in the way they would have to be spoken to. Especially considering his history.

“I don’t know...” His lead publicist says, “If you remain together we’d have to either push back the original plan, or create a whole new one based around you being no longer single. It might not be the best angle for your album release.”

“I actually -” Harry sits up in his chair, “I actually wrote a few songs the other day. A few love songs. It could be a happier album, maybe?”

Jasmine shakes her head with a disapproving noise, “Your last album was happy. The fans and the critics wanted something deeper, personal, more ‘grown’, remember? It’s why we went for the fake relationship route with someone dangerous.”

“I know,” Harry tries not to grit his teeth together. “I know that. I just, like— I just think we’re cutting the strings off too soon. Or something.”

Jasmine hums after a moment, then says, “Tell you what, I’ll definitely write it down. We’ll consider it as a team, it’s what these meetings are for, yeah? Then I’ll shoot you an email with the new contracts if it’s plausible. Sound good?”

It didn’t sound good. It sounded like another fake thing Harry has to smile through and pretend it doesn’t hurt. But an extended timeline meant more time with Louis which meant finally explaining himself. He’d hate for the contract to end, the headlines to be splayed, and the world to know they’ve officially split before Harry confesses and Louis feels the same. It’ll be messy press, and it’ll start their real relationship off in a bad light.

Although his team will probably make the most out of the messiness, and tell the media that they’re a rocky couple and therefore the lyrics in Harry’s songs actually mean something sadder.

He looks down at his phone, none of the notifications Louis, and tries not to let his mind spiral.

.

“So.”

Harry keeps his eyes on his guitar, continuing to pluck at random strings aimlessly. There had been an aim, possibly an hour ago, to write another song. Deeper, personal... grown.

“So.” He replies.

“Are you gonna call him?” Mitch asks, which makes Harry falter slightly on a note. “Or are you just gonna stare pitifully at an instrument for hours on end?”

“It’s fascinating when you decide to talk.” Harry tells him. “And by fascinating, I mean annoying.”

Mitch gives him a rare smile, then moves to sit down on one of the couches. Harry continues plucking away, hoping inspiration will suddenly strike him. 

A few minutes later, Fletcher walks into the studio. He sounds out of breath and Harry instantly frowns.

“Fletch...” Harry greets, placing his guitar on its stand, “Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes.” He replies with a short chuckle. “I’ve, uh, recently purchased one of these Fitbit things and it’s telling me I need to walk more, so I just went up and down your driveway a few times before I came here.”

Harry’s brows rise and he nods in response. Mitch remains smiling down at his own guitar.

“Did you want a water or anything?” Harry asks.

“No, no, I’m fine.” Fletcher insists, “Won’t be here long. Uh, just came by to tell you that Jasmine and the team have agreed to extend the contract. We’ve contacted Louis’ team but said he won’t be able to sign anything until they’re situated in Salt Lake City. Their team has also told us it shouldn’t be an issue due to the band’s previous mentions of extending and, uh, the new ones to sign should be ready in a few days.”

Harry’s grin grows even more once Fletcher stops talking, yet he tries to contain his excitement. “Great!”

His publicist tries to match Harry’s enthusiasm by awkwardly fist-pumping the air. “Great!” He echoes. He looks around the studio, “Oh. Hi, Mitchell!”

Mitch looks up in slight surprise, then waves.

“Alright, then, boys,” Fletcher claps his hands together, then briefly looks at his watch. “I need to walk some more, so, uh, good luck with the songs!”

Harry waves goodbye to him, a new lightness in his chest. He immediately takes out his phone, finds who he needs, and calls.

It’s picked up in two rings. “Harry!”

“Hey, Niall.” Harry replies with a smile, ignoring Mitch’s confused frown. “Where are you right now? You free?”

.

He meets Niall at his place. It’s spotless, and everything Harry honestly did not expect. He greets Zayn and welcomes a beer, and finds Niall on the floor of his room, organising his suitcase with more perfection than Harry could ever think of doing.

“How do you even do that?” Harry asks.

“He’s got a mild case of OCD, this one. No bullshit.” Zayn informs him fondly, walking over and massaging the top of Niall’s head. “You can really see the difference.”

He gestures to his own suitcase and Harry follows the motion. He’s probably got three outfits in total and they’re all thrown in there with no sense of order at all.

“Won’t you... won’t you need more clothes than that?”

Niall scoffs, “Zayn’s never liked packing heavy. He wears most of my shit, anyway.”

Zayn brandishes a winning smile, then takes a seat on the bed. Harry walks over and joins him, the unsettled feeling in his chest becoming prominent the more he realises these suitcases are here for a reason.

He coughs once, then asks, “So. Are you guys ready for the road?”

Niall leans back onto his feet and looks at Harry. “This is honestly my favourite part, mate. I wish you could join us.”

The prospect of even hopping onto their tour bus and travelling for the entirety of their tour sends excitement throughout him like no other. But with the reality of his most recent meeting — the weeks literally planned out day by day — it’s merely not possible at all.

“Same.” He says, looking down at his fingers. “I’ll miss you guys.”

Zayn reaches over and places a comforting hand on Harry’s knee. Harry meets his eye and they share a smile.

“It’s actually... It's been really great getting to know you.” Zayn tells him. “Thanks for being so cool.”

Harry places his hand over Zayn’s lightly as he feels his heart expand from the words. “Thanks for being so welcoming. And just, like, honestly being the best bunch of people to be around. I love you guys.”

Niall makes a sound and his face resembles that of someone who’s about to cry. Without warning, he leaps up from the floor and envelopes Harry in a hug, tipping him over so he’s flattened onto the bed.

“‘M gonna miss you, ‘arry.” He says into his neck.

Harry lets out an airy chuckle, then strokes up and down Niall’s back. “Gonna miss you too, Niall.”

“Wow.” Zayn says after a low whistle. “If this is what it’s like saying goodbye to us, then I wouldn’t wanna be there when it’s Lou’s turn.”

Niall picks his head up and looks at Harry with confusion. “Y’haven’t seen him yet?”

Harry frowns back at him. “Well, no. Was friends with you lot first, wasn’t I?” Niall and Zayn just stare at him, and Harry sighs. “Plus... he— um, he hasn’t really been reachable? Like, no sign of him since you all were at mine the other day.”

He watches Zayn’s expression, whose brows rise to his hairline in surprise. Harry’s about to drill him about it, honestly, until Niall rolls off and laughs.

“That’s ‘cause he’s been too busy with the new dog.”

Harry nods. Then his eyes slowly widen. “Wait. Dog?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Zayn runs a hand through his hair. “We got a dog, like, as a band. Gonna bring her on tour. Was his idea so he was the one to take her home. She’s a bulldog. And a puppy, so.”

“...Makes sense.”

“Wanna see her?” Niall asks.

Harry expects one of them to bring out their phones and show a photo after he nods. Instead, Niall stands and grabs a jacket from his closet.

“Actually, I, uh...” Harry shakes his head, swallows, tries to think of an excuse. “I have to— I have a thing...”

“C’mon.” Zayn says simply, then guides Harry out the door.

.

They find Louis in the middle of his apartment, on the floor and playing tug-of-war with a small dog. Not ankle-biter small, the body is quite large and the head is somehow larger but it’s still a puppy so... small enough.

Louis’ movements pause when he sees three figures in his lounge, and the lack of play makes the dog look over and unexpectedly bound towards them.

Up close, her head looks way too large for her body and she sounds like a pig as she jumps up in greeting. Harry tries not to flinch.

“Hello.” Harry says unevenly as he lets her sniff him curiously. “What’s your name?”

“She doesn’t have one yet.”’ Niall tells him, rubbing behind her ears as she greets him, too.

“I’ve just been calling her Snotball, personally.” Louis says as he stands from the floor. “‘Cause she snots on everything.”

Harry wants to laugh, but he also wants to take him aside and fill his head up with questions that hopefully have answers. Most prominently: are we okay?

“You can’t call her Snotball.” Zayn protests, offended.

“Well, I haven’t heard you give any suggestions. What else am I supposed to call her? Snorton? As in Snorton hears a Who?”

As if on cue, she snorts as she jumps up on Harry. He surprises himself as he lets out a laugh. Dog’s excitement is contagious, he realises, and reaches down to pat her on the head softly.

“You are a terrible name-giver.” Zayn tells Louis. “Please never have children.”

Niall lets out a wheeze and Harry looks over to see him wiping a tear from his eye as he struggles to repeat, “Snorton hears a Who. Fuckin’ genius.”

Louis winks at Niall and stands proud. Harry looks down at the dog and scratches behind her ears like he saw Niall doing earlier. She immediately submits and rolls onto her back.

“She likes you, Harry.” Louis says, making Harry lock eyes with him. He’s staring back with a gentle expression, a small smile on his lips.

Harry’s stomach flips. He wonders if it’ll ever stay put whenever Louis’ around.

“She does?” Harry replies.

“When dogs do that, it means they trust you.” Louis tells him as he walks over. He holds Harry’s gaze as he lowers himself to the ground in front of him. “Pat her belly.”

Harry lowers himself slowly, the dog’s loud pants and snorts filling the room. He places a light hand on her belly and pats her like he did on her head. She doesn’t get up and leer at him, teeth and all, like his neighbour’s dog did when he was ten — instead, she welcomes it, and looks kind of cute as she does so.

“Okay,” Harry whispers to Louis, who’s still petting the dog and watching Harry, “Maybe I like one dog.”

Louis’ face lights up and he smiles at him, half-moon eyes and all. Harry finds himself wishing there were a hundred other dogs to pet just for the same reaction a hundred times.

“Hey,” Louis whispers back, “Wanna talk?”

Harry almost gulps at the insinuation, but he nods and then Louis stands and Harry follows him into his room.

He spots a suitcase lying open on his bed, almost filled and ready to go. Harry’s anxiousness comes back in full force.

Even more so when Louis shuts the door and says, “Sorry I’ve kinda been, like, M.I.A lately.”

“No, no, I get it.” Harry says on default. “You’re busy packing and - and the dog...” He looks down at his feet, bites his lip, then shuts his eyes. “Actually, I’m... I actually think I at least deserved some kind of response?" He looks at Louis, "Last time, you said you’d text, but then—“

“I know, I’m sorry, Harry.” Louis steps closer and holds Harry’s hand in his own. His eyes are so clear up close. “Honestly? I think I got scared. I’m no good at goodbyes and that. I panicked and adopted a dog because it reminded me of you.”

Harry chuckles lowly. “That’s why?”

“Honest to god. And I’m glad you got to meet her. Now we’ve both kinda confronted something that scared us. You, of dogs and me, of...” He trails off, unsure.

Harry’s brows pull together slowly. He takes Louis’ other hand into his own. “Of what?”

“Of letting you go.”

Louis smiles at him but it’s contrastingly different to the one they shared before. This time it’s closed-lipped and sad, and Harry feels the ghost of himself plummet to the floor.

“The tour is only nine months.” Harry rationalises. “I’ll find time out of my schedule to meet you wherever you are. Maybe when you’re back in London I’ll fly over, too, and we can stay in the same hotel again. It’s possible, Lou, and you don’t have to let me go.”

And even though Louis lets go of one of his hands, he runs his fingers through Harry’s hair before holding the back of his neck. He presses a kiss to Harry’s mouth, long and deep.

Something flickers in Harry’s brain. This may be the last time they see each other for quite a while, even if Louis does sign the new contract in a few days time.

So Harry kisses him deeper, holds him tighter, tries to convince Louis that they’re meant to be. He doesn't hesitate.

He moves his hands slowly over Louis’ bum and squeezes once just to hear him moan into his mouth. He kisses him further and kneads his bum as Louis rolls his hips subtly into Harry's. This isn't goodbye, but if it is, they have to make their last time count.

He kisses Louis deeper, and gently tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. Then he lifts Louis up and holds him underneath his thighs, guiding his legs around his own hips. Louis gasps from the movement but he clings onto Harry all the same, foreheads pressed together. Harry lowers himself onto the floor, keeping Louis perfectly situated and continuing to kiss into his mouth. He lies Louis down onto the floor first, then traps him in with his knees on either side and presses his lips to the side of his neck.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, fingers tugging at his strands.

Harry works his way down, lifting his shirt up and focusing on his nipples. His mouth on one and his fingers working the other, he doesn't stop until Louis' writhing around underneath him from overstimulation. Harry can't contain his smirk before he kisses and sucks and sometimes bites once he reaches Louis’ belly. His soft skin turns pink at the attention, and his noises turn breathier the further Harry goes down. He licks a long stripe above Louis’ waistband and Louis turns quiet, his body stilling.

Harry can’t help but widen his grin as he glances upwards and finds Louis watching him. He slowly peels back Louis’ pants and his cock springs free, ready.

It’s always been a turn on how easily Louis gets hard. Harry thought he was alone with it in the beginning, but he soon found out that when Louis’ eyes get a certain glaze, he’s just as hard as Harry is. And this was often. 

He holds Louis at the base and straight away flattens his tongue against the underside of his cock and licks upwards. Louis immediately shivers from the motion and he tightens his grip in Harry’s hair. This spurs Harry on and he wets his palm with spit before re-grasping Louis’ cock and wanking him off slowly while his tongue focuses on the tip.

“Fuck.” Louis curses under his breath. His legs spread open more and Harry uses his other hand to massage Louis’ inner thigh.

He licks up Louis’ cock multiple times before swirling his tongue around the tip and sinking down further. He uses the hand that's on his thigh to cup a hold of Louis' balls and he squeezes gently. Louis' thighs start to tremble. 

After a few moments, Louis tugs on Harry’s hair and he moans around his cock.

“I’m gonna come.” Louis warns.

Harry only slides off a little, then catches Louis’ load in his mouth. He licks his lips and sits back onto his heels, watching as Louis regains his breath.

He tucks Louis back into his pants and lies down next to him. Louis curls into him immediately. He reaches up and kisses Harry on the nose, then shakes his head.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you?" Louis whispers, voice raspy and fond. "You’re not making this easy.”

Harry’s smile grows, “Good.”

Louis laughs once, then leans down to peck a kiss to every inch of Harry’s face. It’s the best attack Harry’s ever experienced, and he squirms with laughter.

It’s cut short, however, by a sudden gasp from outside and a devastating, “Oh noooooo!”

Louis stops. They both share a frown filled with confusion and concern before they stand up and open the door as soon as they can.

Harry’s eyes zone in on the mess almost in an instant. He guesses Louis’ eyes do, too, if the muttered, “Fucking hell.” is anything to go by.

In the middle of the room, one of the bean bags is completely destroyed. The filling of it covers the entire floor, and the puppy sits in the middle of the chaos like she’s proud of it. Niall’s to the left of her, still in shock with both hands in his hair. Zayn’s to the right, expression sheepish as he looks at Louis.

“So...” Zayn says, “Lucy? Short for Lucifer?”

.

Harry doesn’t feel inclined to leave and the boys don’t give hints for him to leave, so he stays the whole afternoon and into the night, fittingly. Liam had come over after Louis had called him following the beanbag incident and asked for him to bring a vacuum. (“You don’t own one?” “It broke if you must know, Harold”) So the five of them hung out like they did in London, and Harry finds himself wanting to quit his entire career and join theirs instead. They could be a five-piece. Why not?

He visualises everyone in his usual meetings all looking at him and shaking his head at his inward suggestion. 

"Um," Harry clears his throat before speaking, the low him of the television the only thing producing sound for a minute or two. Louis looks at him. "Where are you guys most keen to perform?"

"India!" Niall answers immediately, and the boys all agree.

"I'm quite keen on Brazil, actually. I've heard they're fucking insane when it comes to concerts." Zayn says.

"They are, yeah." Harry tells him. "I even got a -" He lifts his hips upwards from where they're seated and begins to unbutton his pants. He hears Liam make an unsure sound and he feels Louis' burning gaze as he slides his jeans off just slightly to display his hip, where he's got Brazil tattooed. 

"Oh, my god." Louis says under his breath. "How have I never seen that before?"

Harry grins with a shrug, moving to re-do his pants back up. "I have a lot of random ones, they kinda all blur into one, I think."

"I'm most keen for Australia." Liam says with a raised hand. "I don't know, I think it's just amazing that we're actually getting a chance to go somewhere that far away."

Harry nods, then turns to Louis. He moves his thumb against Louis' thigh, "What about you?"

"I - I don't know. Haven't really given it much thought." He looks down at Harry's hand, then places his own over it. "Probably London." He says as he meets Harry's eyes. 

Harry returns the smile. London, where Louis used to hate. Where Harry will meet him and they'll spend time together. London, where his family is. 

"What? Why?" Niall asks, "We were just there!"

Louis' eyes dart to him, "And why didn't you say Dublin, Niall?"

"I wonder where Lucy will enjoy the most." Harry says after Niall's frown turns into contemplation. 

They all look towards the puppy who is sleeping soundly on her mat, snoring peacefully. 

"Hell, probably." Liam says.

"Oi!" Louis warns as he sits up straighter, "You take that back!" 

Liam just grins back without fear and leans into his seat more. "Make me."

It turns into a brawl, after that. Lucifer and all.

.

"I'll... Guess I'll see you in London? Or something?" Louis asks Harry in the kitchen as the other three boys are zonked out on the couches and floor. It's late, and after Harry and Louis had snuck off yet again to finish what they started, Harry knew he needed to leave before it got too late. One Direction are set to head off in their tour bus in the morning, and Harry has a writing session in the middle of the day. He can see how tired Louis is now as he drinks his tea and whispers to him. 

"Yeah," Harry smiles. "I'll see you in London."

What he really plans on doing (after having conjured up a plan on how to see Louis again sooner rather than later) is travelling and meeting the boys before their show the next night, surprising them and wishing them good luck. Louis will get the contract there and that way he and Harry can really discuss how they plan on moving forward. 

"It's been, erm..." Louis breathes out harshly and then licks his lips has he looks towards the ceiling. He looks emotional, like he's reminiscing. "It's been a fuckin' whirlwind, hasn't it? Us?"

"Yeah," Harry repeats, nodding. "It really has. Best whirlwind I could've asked for."

Louis chuckles softly. "Bet you didn't expect to like me so much when we signed on together, huh?"

Harry thinks about it for a moment, then says, "Actually, I think I always did, to be honest. I just never expected for you to like me back."

For a second, Louis' eyes drop to the kitchen counter. He hums lowly, then flicks his gaze up to meet Harry's again. "I think I always did, too." He whispers. "But don't tell anyone."

Harry laughs breathily. "I won't."

Louis steps closer to him and Harry wraps his arms around his body to pull him close to his chest. They stay there for a moment, the soft embrace feeling like everything he needs. He strokes Louis' back calmly and he can feel Louis' body fall into him more and more as he continues. Harry's lips pull into a smile, he's so tired. 

"Hey," Harry whispers, lips to Louis' hair. 

"Mm?"

"I'm not gonna say goodbye, alright?"

A pause, then, "Good."

"But I'm gonna go." He squeezes Louis once, then releases. Louis' fingers dig into the material of Harry's shirt. "Stay safe. And please text me this time. And pass on the message to the others, yeah?"

Louis makes another sound, then separates slowly from him. Harry looks away from the wetness in his eyes. "I will."

He leans in and kisses Louis on the lips once, then leaves. 

.

Harry feels on top of the world as he parks his car outside of the venue two days after. He has the song One Direction performed the night of the Grammy’s blasting through the stereo and he sings along loudly. 

Despite being busy and occupied, Harry has missed Louis endlessly. He’s been counting down the hours to when he can finally see him again and he’s been thinking about how he will hug Louis and ask him to be his boyfriend — for real this time — and how they’ll kiss and Harry will wish him good luck and he’ll watch their set from the side of the stage and Harry will be the proudest boyfriend anyone’s ever seen. 

With this scenario on a constant loop in his mind, Harry hops out of his car with a smile and saunters into the venue. He spots their manager first, who looks the most flustered he’s ever been. He takes a look at Harry, looks away, then looks back at him a little longer. He doesn’t say anything, just nods and points him to the direction of the band, Harry guesses. 

He walks down a corridor and hears a guitar being played through the amplifier. Harry follows the noise, but just spots Niall playing a few chords as Zayn lies down on the stage with his chin in the palm of his hand, watching Niall like he created the very essence of music itself. 

The venue is quite small, reminding Harry of his own first world tour. Now, he’d sell out arenas with multiple dates. His team have proposed the idea of a stadium tour many times but Harry always declines, stating that he prefers the intimacy.

“Harry?” Niall’s voice travels through the empty venue, causing Harry to look at him and walk over. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Zayn sits up and smiles at him in greeting, “Can’t get enough of us, can you?”

Harry chuckles, “Nope, I really can’t. Life’s boring without you guys.”

Niall walks over and hugs Harry tightly, then kisses him on the cheek. “Did you really just travel all the way here to see us?” 

“Well, I took a plane instead of a car, so didn’t take much time at all.”

“That’s bad for the environment, you know.” 

Harry turns and finds Liam walking onto the stage. He gives Harry a hug as Niall says, “Since when d’you know about environmental shit?”

“Luke’s gotten me onto that Netflix series thing. It’s mind-blowing.” Liam tells them all, “Honestly, you gotta watch. Really makes you think.”

“Wait, Luke? As in…?”

“Oh.” Liam replies to Harry. “Yeah, that Luke. We’ve kinda, like, stayed in touch ‘cause of our friends being friends and such. Fancy seeing you here, though. Seriously thought we wouldn’t see you for another six months or so.”

Harry smiles and shrugs, “Thought I’d wish you all good luck on your first show for the tour. Texts don’t really convey the right emotion, you know?”

“Harry.” Zayn says flatly. 

“Yeah?”

“Stop talking shit. Louis’ in the dressing room.”

Harry’s smile grows comically and he snaps his fingers and points to Zayn. Niall laughs loudly as Harry leaves the stage to go find Louis. 

It takes a few minutes, a few wrong doors and a few left turns before he finds the right one. He opens the door and spots Louis bent over with his elbows on the table, gazing into the mirror and fixing up his eyeliner. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and no shirt and Harry shamelessly admires the view as he closes the door behind him. 

Once the door makes a sound, Louis’ gaze immediately flits to him. Before Harry can greet him, though, Lucy runs up to Harry first and begins to jump up in excitement, tail wagging furiously. 

“Hi, gorgeous girl.” Harry whispers, patting her gently, “Have you been behaving?”

“She took turns in pissing on all our beds throughout the duration of the drive, and has also destroyed three of her toys. So, standard, yeah.” Louis answers as he stands and walks towards Harry and Lucy. 

“Sounds like she’s teething.” Harry says. 

Louis glances down at Lucy, who’s now trying to scratch the back of her ear with her paw in a very weird position. “Maybe, yeah.”

“It’s good to see you.” Harry says, stepping closer and reaching out to hold Louis by his hips. Louis smiles at him but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He hugs him, then pulls away slightly.

“I— I was actually going to call you, erm,” His brows meet for a second, “About the contract?”

“Oh. Yeah, you saw?” Harry asks.

“I did…” Louis looks at him, confusion in his expression. “So, it wasn’t an accident?”

Harry laughs softly. Louis has always been uncertain, insecure of Harry admiration towards him. He had seen this, in the scenario, seen Louis questioning him. “Of course not.”

Louis swallows harshly, and Harry can see his jaw pulse once before he says, “I haven’t signed it.”

“That’s okay. I wanted to come here so I can talk to you myself, in person.” Harry moves Louis’ hair away from his face gently. “I knew you’d have questions.”

It takes about fifteen seconds or so for Louis to stop contemplating whatever it is that is going through his head and for his face to change, for him to look at Harry in the eye. He steps back, too, making Harry drop his hand from his face and to probably get a better look at Harry. 

“_Why_ did you extend it?” Louis wants to know, shaking his head, brows creased together. He looks so beautiful, his eyeliner making his eyes pop. “Like, without consulting me at all? I… Like, firstly, I can’t just be publicly attached to you forever. You have a life to live. _I_ have a life to live, for God’s sake. You can’t— you can’t let this _go on_ forever.”

He knows that it’ll take a lot for Louis to understand that this is something Harry doesn’t want as a career aspect of his life. He wants this for his own sake. Forever. And he needs to make Louis believe it. 

“Louis,” Harry says, then reaches out and places both hands on Louis’ cheeks, cradling him. He locks their eyes and tells him honestly, “I want to spend this life with you.”

“What?”

Harry draws in a breath, unable to stop the smile as he looks into Louis’ eyes. He feels liberated, now. “I think I’m definitely in love with you. Have been for a while, if I’m honest.”

Time suspends. But then somehow it’s broken the moment Louis takes another step away from him, away from his hands. “No,” He shakes his head. “You don’t love me.”

Harry nods, “I do, Louis. I’ve thought about it, I know it.” He stares into Louis’ now-terrified eyes and steps closer to him. “I know I don’t want this to end. And if you’ll have me—“

“Why the _fuck_—?” Louis takes another step away and holds out his arm so there’s a barrier between them. Something isn’t right. Harry’s smile slowly fades off his face as his heart immediately plummets from the way Louis’ voice cracks. “Why on _Earth_ would you say something like that right before I have to go on stage? You can’t just... this wasn’t part of the _plan_, Harry. You said—“

“Fuck the plan.” Harry frowns, confused, “Why are you so afraid? What is so scary about this? I _know_ you feel the same.”

“That isn’t—“ Louis groans, then squeezes his eyes together. Harry’s head spins. This isn’t how he thought this would go. “You just don’t know what the fuck you’re saying, is the problem.”

“I just told you I think I’m in love with you. Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because you only _think_ you’re in love!” Louis shouts but his voice is still strained, still weak. “We’re _fake_, Harry. You and I. This,” He gestures between them, movement rapid. “Was purely...” He trails off and his arm drops heavily with exhaustion. It’s only when Harry’s head stops spinning when he realises Louis’ sentence is cut off due to sheer emotion. Harry instantly is put into gear, moving forward to comfort him. Except Louis takes another immediate step back and Harry’s left frozen. “We made a deal. That if either one of us felt something more, we end it. What happened to that?”

“Are you saying you don’t feel the same? You didn’t feel _anything_ more?” Harry frowns deeper, unable to understand. “I’m not daft, Louis. Somewhere along the line this turned into something real. You’re just too afraid to admit that. You said that your fear was letting me go but I think that was a lie. I think your fear is admitting that you love someone again.”

Louis doesn’t look at him, concentrated on a spot elsewhere, all fragility concealed. Harry feels like breaking in front of him, shaking him and begging him to stop. But his bones have gone stiff, startled completely with the unexpected outcome of his declaration.

“I think it’s best if we distance ourselves from each other from now on.” Louis finalises. The words don’t settle in Harry’s ears. They feel reused, rehearsed, almost. “_We_,” Louis pauses to cough once, clear his throat. Harry blinks out of his daze to focus on him, to catch the falter in Louis’ steel expression. Just a glimpse. “We need to go back to the way things were. Before any of it started. I think—I think it’s better that way. That we stay completely separate.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Finally, _finally_, Louis looks at him again. Eye to eye, Harry can see the red lining, can see how much he’s breaking. _You love me_, Harry wants to plead, _you have to_.

Then he watches how Louis’ gaze drops as he clenches his teeth together. “And neither do you.”

Harry’s throat feels like it’s closing. He shakes his head. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel.”

Louis’ demeanour breaks, and Harry sees his bottom lip quiver only slightly before he stops it with his top one, pressing them together. His eyes begin to fill up, his eyelashes collecting tears.

“Tell them that you broke up with me.” He says.

“I won’t.” Harry replies before Louis finishes.

“Tell the world that you did, before the rumours happen, before—“

“No,” The word is choked off, his head shaking. _No no no no no no_—

“I will, then.” Louis smiles. It’s short lived and shaky. It’s painful. “You’re gonna have all the fun in the world out there. Out and proud.”

“Louis,” Harry sees him through his own watery eyes, vision wavy. He holds his gaze, afraid to blink in case he loses it.

But he does lose it; Louis can barely look at him for more than a second. They used to get lost in each other’s eyes, an expression that Harry thought was simply an expression until he gazed into Louis’. They used to be able to escape the world with it like some lovesick characters in a romantic comedy. They used to have a bubble, the two of them.

They used to. They used to. They used to.

_No_.

Harry blinks and the reservoir held from the stare suddenly collapses, water falling onto his cheeks.

He clears his throat. Hopes for the best.

“This isn’t goodbye.”

It comes out pathetic but he doesn’t care.

He waits.

The suspense is so intimate he feels his very own veins shake with it. There’s a moment when he thinks that Louis will just leave, won’t even spare Harry a second thought.

Louis’ nose is red, his eyes, too. He’s hurting just as much as Harry is but he’s refusing to admit it. This is what hurts the most — rejection, unrequited love, that’s something that Harry can deal with — but the fact that right now Louis feels the need to conceal himself from Harry, to lie. That’s what tears him apart limb from limb. They’re back to square one. 

There’s a knock on the door and a five minute call for soundcheck but neither of them flinch nor respond.

Then Louis whispers and it shatters Harry completely. “But it is, Harry.”

_But it is_.

Harry doesn’t hug him back when Louis hesitantly closes the large gap between them and falls into his chest. He doesn’t dare to, doesn’t have the strength. That answer isn’t good enough. _This_ isn’t good enough.

He feels Louis’ head against his chest, feels the wetness of his eyes soak into his shoulder. He can smell his own shampoo from Louis’ hair, can feel their heartbeats beat in time. How can he just let this go?

Harry doesn’t reciprocate, just lets Louis breathe Harry in for as long as he needs to. Then his grip loosens and he falls away slowly, eyes lowered to the floor.

Harry can’t bear it any longer. Without a word, he turns away from Louis and opens the door, leaving the room.

He walks fast, disappointment and anger and sadness manifesting itself into energy he thought he’d lost, using it to help himself towards his car.

He exits the venue in a daze, not caring what he looks like nor who sees him. He throws open his car door and sits down in the driver’s side.

_But it is_.

He smacks his hand against the steering wheel multiple times before collapsing onto it with a sob — his heart left somewhere inside Louis’ dressing room, still beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (psssstt....... this isn't the end i promise x)


End file.
